June is gathering like a storm on a prairie horizon. Soon, this has to break. And the sky will have to fall, whole and full, straight to the ocean, to the waves, to the crests and sea foam. We’ll rejoice, god moving the traffic of the summer past our doors, shooing away the marine layer, the dim mornings that start to feel like wasted afternoon before noon even comes calling. We’ll all be wide-eyed and tempered, flushed with sunlight like a crack in a brick wall, like a god emerging from a tunnel to lead a people from their doom.