june is the season of rain.
the season of tulips and hydrangea.
it is the season of colorful umbrellas
popped open at the first grey cloud.

summer will be the cicada season
whose song will make the wet heat
even hotter

in our ears and in our hair.
our cheeks will be red

with the buzzing locust noise.

autumn was the egg season.
the full moon season.
the season of the soft boiled egg

between two burger patties
an oozing yellow moon mingling with teriyaki and lettuce.
there used to be a ceremony, a holiday that grandparents remember.
now autumn is the season of eggburgers.

and june - june june june - is the season of tulips and typhoons.
i imagine maniacal wind blowing the little people
clutching umbrellas and shopping bags,
lifting them off the sidewalk and shuffling them all over the street -
a neat seastorm of umbrellas red and blue and black and yellow pokadot
flying around nagano city, high school girls trying to keep

their hair dry and skirts down
and the salarymen with flailing briefcases trying to smoke cigarettes in mid air.
the wind and the umbrellas and all the bicycles

and small cars and tiny dogs
and leaves and flower petals and fresh soil all mingled together
at an airborne june cocktail party where everyone is friends in the wind
and soaked in the rain despite their umbrellas and raincoats.
perhaps everyone will laugh and ask for more beer
which will float over in tulips red and orange and yellow

and june will last forever and nagano will never dry.