If a June night could talk
it would whisper. And in the end its voice would falter, breathless. Gulping in night air while Juniper stands in grass knee high, staring toward the northeast with darkening eyes. Outlined in a hazy glow all her own while we three watch from behind a wide oak with more wonder than fear; though her outstretched toes hover above the ground and didn’t The Mother warn us about such devilry.
Oh but she lied – and we know the truth of it now.
We watch Juniper rise higher; night winds hushing any fears. Feeling what a joy it will be to fly so….
If a June night could talk....