June. That month most favored by me. The sixth month. The blue month.
Today, the station air lies still and stale, stirred only by the passing train to Glenmont.
June has a significance for me because it is my birth month. It also marks the halfway point of the year. A time for reflection. It marks no season, has a holiday of import, and is regarded as a hot, humid, wet month.
For me, also, a melancholy month, ever since I stopped celebrating my birthday.