On the first day of June 2018.
Almost forgotten the drear grey days, the bitter damp, the northeast winds.
Snow like ice, lingering long and chill. Nature stiff with the cold, dormant and decaying.
But now there’s a warmth in the air, coming with it an expectancy.
Trees, hedgerows and verges, green as they can hope to be.
The cow parsley has faded finally and is already laying down its seed for next year.
Yellow cowslips and primroses making way for later bloomers.
Crops are flourishing while pigeons do their best to cause damage.
Pink campion, ragged robin and ox-eye daisies abound in meadows.
And in some, orchids bring inexplicable joy.
As do yellow flags around the ponds and some still-wet ditches.
Skylarks sing their musical socks off high above our heads.
Moorhens run around like headless chickens, caring not for their young.
They can always have more. And do. And care not for them either.
Tiny wagtails are wagging for all they are worth.
Buzzards hover in the sky seeking furry prey.
Favourite of all, the leaping hare. Big ears, big eyes.
Seeing the predatory fox before they are seen themselves.
Running fast to put distance between themselves and danger.
Resting by day, when they can. Foraging by night.
Then, still as a statue or running in circles. Caught in a headlight.
Wisteria’d cottages. Blossom of every imaginable hue.
Roses round the door, along fences, adorning walls.
Honeysuckle. Apple, pear and plum making tiny fruit.
The scents of summer and the smell of morning dew.
Buzzing bees drunk on pollen. Queen wasps seek a new home inside ours.
Midges, spiders, slugs, worms, newts, snails, butterflies, bats.
All busy about their own business.
All making hay while the sun shines. Yes, for sure, it’s June.
What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade. Gertrude Jekyll
Wisteria woke me this morning,
And there was all June in the garden;
I felt them, early, warning
Lest I miss any part of the day.
Straight I walked to the trellis vine.
Wisteria touched a lifted nostril:
Feelings of beauty diffused, to entwine
My spirit with June’s own aura. Ann McGough, Summons
Tell us your favourite spring/summer poems. Or, why not write one of your own and send it to us?