You know I'm gonna say qPhil
and im ready for you.
Phil is June. He's longer, brighter days when spring is bordering on giving way to summer. He's the feeling of knowing you made it through-- the year is half way over, you've made it through the darkest days of winter and the awkward new beginnings of spring. You're settled, and you're enjoying the feeling of sun on your skin and wind in your hair. Summer might be unbearable, summer might bring too-hot days or too-heavy rainfall. But summer isn't here yet. Right now, it's june.
He isn't the dawn chorus, but he's the birds that chirp as the light of day is beginning to bow. The night owls are up a little too early, it seems-- but that's okay. So were you. He's waking up at 6am to lights creeping through your curtains to shine into your eyes.
But he's also salt. A fine, gritty flavour enhancer-- salt never demands to be the star of the dish, yet it always ends up centre-table, spilled, thrown over your shoulder in superstition. It's an intrinsic part of dining, one that no one seems to fully notice until the shaker is running on empty.
He's forgotten tea. Steeped for too long, so long that the water is running a little on the cooler side. But it's fine, you can make another pot, we've just been chatting for so long we both forgot it.
he's also, very predictably, a shade of green











