Beware the storms of June--that month of contest, sickness and pain.
June is the month of transition, the midpoint of the year, representing the span of a life or one of its stages. And transitions, while hopefully for the better, are always dangerous: you leave behind a place you have been used to and comfortable with, and leave for a new place where you shall be an exile in a lost kingdom. Such is the difficulty of leaving: something is left, something is gained. And when what will be left weighs as much or is as important as what will be gained, when parting is bittersweet but you know that you really cannot stay--now you have a decision to make.
I fear June.
I've found it to be one of the most difficult months (with December, the end of the year, and January, its beginning). It may sound mere mythologizing, but months have their own forces and powers, not solely coming from the weather they bring, say, like the might of June's thunderstorms or the eerie chill of December and January, the torrid heat from the fat suns of May--the weather is only a symptom of time, and it is time and its moods which can harm us.
January is troublesome because you're supposed to be optimistic of a new beginning along with all the rest but you still have a hang over from the previous year so you can't get started, remain stuck, and facing the new year turns into a seemingly impossible challenge.
December is melancholy because it's supposed to be the season of giving love and cheer--and that is very difficult for one who has nobody to love and who couldn't even cheer himself up with a glass of wine or a trip to Hong Kong.
And June, yes, the storms of June. Being in the middle, June is when you are tested, stretched and broken. You may be cut into two, having to move on leaving a part of you behind, forever unable to recover a lost hope or a doomed love.
June can also kill; and death changes everything. But you may also suffer the blows of June and walk away with just a limp.