july

july-- that's a pretty word to look at and write and say.

maybe that prettiness comes from the shapes of the letters-- from the low, gentle curve of j, from the smooth inverted arch of u, from the slim confidence of l, from the harsh angle in y softened by that elegant tail. july: a cat lounging on a windowsill.

or maybe it comes from the sound of the word when spoken. it reminds me of eating a perfect grape--not the grape-eating sound, just the feeling--and not the physical feeling, just the feeling.

but i'll tell you what. maybe the prettiness comes from what happens in the middle of that month made up of those four strong, fluid letters. maybe it comes from sitting on my grandmother's wraparound porch in a tiny town in vermont. the local library is glowing fifty yards from where i sit. order of the phoenix and a glass of pink lemonade are hangin' out on the table next to me. it's ten p.m. and this little street is as dark as can be, except for the aisle of warm windows i see when i crane my neck over the edge of the porch. it stretches on and on into the night, the squares of window-light getting smaller and smaller, closer and closer together. i think this road might stretch on forever, circling all the way around the globe and ending up right back at this old porch. there's nowhere else in the world. just this road. old vermont homes with vermont doors and vermont yards with wet green vermont grass, wet green blades that reflect the light from the windows, that reflect the big ol' vermont moon.

p.s. harry potter. i keep trying to read other books and keep coming back to the summer staple.

p.p.s. harry potter. "motion picture event of a generation"? that's so dumb. no wait, that's SO TRUE.