Sharing my Flaming June on a Freezing January day.

This painting is called "Flaming June" and even the name makes me feel light-hearted. It warms me body and soul to look upon her. Thanks to my husband, she now hangs above my bed, where I can visit her any time I like. She never fails to make me smile. And now, on this cold, frozen January day, I want to share her with you. May she give you the warmth and comfort that she gives me.

The color of her gown is vibrant and liquid; juicky like overripe Mediterranean fruit. I can almost feel the gossamer folds running like water between her thighs; cool and silky on her fevered skin. The ocean breeze carries the faint, delicious promise of summer rain. It caresses her, whispering through her hair and coaxing forth the aroma of jonquils and baking bread that has settled there; her own personal perfume.

I wonder about June. Is it the sun that has warmed her, or was it a loverrs touch? Is it the exhaustion of ardor that tranquilizes her or just the limpid peace of a perfect day?

I am brimming with contemporary disquiet; loaded with cares and concerns that June would find bewildering. I long for her contenment and langour. Sometimes I think that if I lie as still as she and imagine the tang of salt on my lips, I can steal her serenity for just a moment. Its a thought that cheers me and I find solace in her.

June...I feel like she could be my friend. I think we would talk about books and babies, life and lovers, poetry and politics.

June doesn't betray my confidences, twist my words, or exploit my weaknesses.

June doesn't take from me just because she can.

June doesn't mistake my happiness as disregard for her sadness.

June doesn't play guessing games.

June doesn't hold me to a higher standard of behavior than she holds herself.

June doesn't pretend everything is perfectly fine while secretly harboring anger and resentment.

June doesn't expect me to just know why.

June doesn't judge or dismiss me simply because some of our views differ.

June doesn't doesn't expect me to listen without giving me an opportunity to be heard.

June doesn't make me her whipping boy.

June doesn't find our friendship dispensable or disposable.

June doesn't hurt me.

June offers me comfort, never asking any for herself.

June willingly shares her tranquility; selflessly telegraphing warm solace through the very canvas of her presence.
June is constant. June is dependable. June is steadfast.

My June asks for nothing, expects nothing, and offers everything.

Sometimes, I don't care that June is silent, because she can soothe me without a word. Sometimes, I don't care that I will never feel the warmth of her cheek against mine. Her value is no less for the lack of arms to wrap around my shoulders.

But sometimes...

Sometimes I think that it would be good to hear her laugh. It would be good to see the light in her eyes. It would be good to feel the warmth of her grasp and the silk of her hair in my mouth when the wind blows. Sometimes I wonder if the risk of heartbreak is the price of a warm embrace, and if, ultimately, it's worth the cost. I risk nothing loving June. Her friendship is not prefaced by a dollar sign. She does not demand a pound of flesh as collateral.

For all those reasons and more...she is Flaming Perfect