Зима тревоги нашей

           Evenintheafternoonthedustycarscreeptothedesolatedooryardoftheremoteandpaintlesshousewitheveryblinddrawn,attheendofMillStreet,whereAlice,thevillagewhore,receivestheafternoonproblemsofJune-bittenmen.Andalldaylongtherowboatsanchoroffthebreakwaterandhappymenandwomencoaxuptheirdinnersfromthesea.

           Juneispaintingandclipping,plansandprojects.It’sararemanwhodoesn’tbringhomecementblocksandtwo-by-foursandonthebacksofenvelopesroughoutdrawingsofTajMahals.Ahundredlittleboatsliebellydownandkeelupontheshore,theirbottomsgleamingwithcopperpaint,andtheirownersstraightenupandsmileattheslow,unmovingwindrows.Stillschoolgripstheintransigentchildrenuntilneartotheendofthemonthand,whenexaminationtimecomes,rebellionfoamsupandthecommoncoldbecomesepidemic,aplaguewhichdisappearsonclosingday.

           InJunethehappyseedofsummergerminates."WhereshallwegooverthegloriousFourthofJuly?...It’sgettingontimeweshouldbeplanningourvacation."Juneisthemotherofpotentials,ducklingsswimbravelyperhapstothesubmarinejawsofsnappingturtles,lettuceslungetowarddrought,tomatoesreardefiantstemstowardcutworms,andfamiliesmatchthemeritsofsandandsunburnoverfretfulmountainnightsloudwithmosquitosymphonies."ThisyearI’mgoingtorest.Iwon’tgetsotired.ThisyearIwon’tallowthekidstomakemyfreetwoweeksahellonwheels.Iworkallyear.Thisismytime.Iworkallyear."