letters to july no. 2 || 14

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Dear July,

There’s a park across from the local downtown area that used to be a zoo, and even though it’s now just a park, with a splash pad for the kiddos and a little building that sells burgers and ice cream and a movie theatre that was once a museum, I still think of it as the zoo. This little white brick building that was part of zoo is the only thing that looks the same. It’s like a part of the zoo is nestled in with all the other “improved” stuff.

I don’t know what that means, but it means something.

Everything means something.

Don’t you agree, July?


letters to july no. 2 || 12

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Dear July,

I got bangs the other day.

I was aiming for a Zooey Deschanel meets Jane Birken vibe, but it ended up making me feel like me. Really and truly me. I feel more like myself than I have in a long time. This is not to say that I haven’t been myself, because every day God is molding me into the me He wants me to be. But this change was more of a coming home– if a haircut could ever be such a thing.

Today you were humid and sticky and made my city move as though we were swimming through air. You felt like you were constantly on the verge of raining.

letters to july no. 2 || 08

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Dear July,

Don’t tell the others, but you are my favourite month. My birthday month, the quintessentially summer month.

I’d like to continue on this theme of favourite-ness. The following is a list of favourite you have introduced me to this last week or so:

– the music of George Ezra

– Kitty Cotten’s blog and YouTube channel (she seems like such a sweet gal, and all her blog posts and YouTube uploads are the epitome of loveliness)

– This blog post from my bestie’s freshly updated site, talking about change– it’s all the words I couldn’t find

Little City Magazine

– a little brick building in a local park, whose wall nearest to the sidewalk is practically covered in flowering ivy climbing up a trellis on the wall

– CTRL, ALT, DELETE podcast episode with Olivia Purvis of What Olivia Did (one of my favourite blogs written by one of my favourite women on the web); Liv is so, so wise and sounds like an all-round cool cat

– all the Back To The Future movies

Thank you, July, for being so grand.

And to think this is only the beginning…





letters to july no. 2 || 07


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Dear July,

I am so, so sorry for my erratic and inconsistent letters.

In the midst of savoring every moment of summer, I just cannot find the time sit down and compose a letter every day.

If I were me from last summer, I’d be frustrated with and disappointed in myself.  But I am not me from last summer. I am an improved me, and I have given myself grace. I do hope you will too.

This first week with you has been so lovely. I’ve danced the twist during a concert attributing The Beatles and wandered my local downtown area with my dearest friend (refer to the above photo; cough cough #adventuresofSarahandAutumn cough) and picked strawberries with my mum and sisters and watched sunsets reminiscent of paintings through my living room window. All of this filled my heart and often ended up in late nights so I couldn’t find a spare moment to drop you a line.

I love writing you, and I will keep writing you when I can. Pinky promise.



letters to july no. 2 || 04

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Dear July,

I think we are friends. And because I trust you as a dear friend I am going to tell you something about myself that makes most roll their eyes.

I do not like fireworks.

I have tried. I have faked it to make it.

But, gosh, all that just feels like ignoring all of my common sense.

My family is in the driveway, lighting fireworks and having a jovial time. I tried so hard to enjoy the pretty lights– and did, to some extent– but when it was all over I was the only one not begging for another. I found the firecrackers to be an assault on my senses; loud and flashing and there was one kind called ‘cherry bomb’ that made me feel nauseous.

And so inside I came, crying because I felt empathy for my pup, who was wailing in fear, and because of something else that was foggy but clearly disquieting. I cried for a bit, but I wiped my tears and am calmer now, cuddling the dog and writing to you.

Today is the day I accepted the fact that I am not like the majority of my fellow patriots.

Sparklers is as far as I’ll go.

Please don’t laugh at me. Don’t tell me that I’m being silly or irrational or wimpy. I like to think you are the kind of friend who welcomes people’s quirks with open arms.

Enough about me. How do you feel about all these loud noisy things shooting up in the sky?

letters to july no. 2 || 02

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Dear July,

So far you’ve been a dream. Sunny but not sweltering, and brimming with loveliness.

Mum came home early from her trip– right after I wrote yesterday’s letter. It is so good to have her home. I cried, of course. With every July that passes, I seem to do more of that. But I’m confident that it’s not a bad thing.

My baby sister and I saw the film adaption of one of our favourite Roald Dahl books today. We spent too much money on snacks and got comfortable in the seats reminiscent of recliners and giggled at our own indecisiveness. It was grand.

After cuddling on the couch with my mama bear to watch Back to The Future (sidenote: this movie is now added to my mental list of favourite flicks; what a classic…), I hopped in the shower while the sunset glowed in through the bathroom window, basking everything in that radiance that only you give. It made everything feel so magical for just a minute.

How are you feeling, July? Are you excited about your future? Nervous? A bit of both?

I do hope you are well.


letters to july no. 2 || 01

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Dear July,

Today I took off my cotton sheets and replaced them with the flannel ones of my childhood. Not by choice, I assure you; as I watched Magic in The Moonlight, a favourite summer film of mine, I accidentally spilled licorice tea all over my summer sheets. So, into the hamper they went, and my backup sheets– these floral beauties– replace them temporarily.

I recently rediscovered this sheet set while looking for something else entirely (this oft is how I find things). The sight of the cream-coloured cloth with little roses scattered atop reminded me of sleeping on the top bunk of the bunk bed I shared with my sister; arguing and sharing fears and dreaming with her all in the same evening, of books crammed between the wood and the mattress, of the light that clamped to the side of the bunk that was frequently on hours later than my bedtime because I liked to read when no one else was awake. They remind me of who I was when I was young and who I am today, and how proud I am of both of them.

It’s awfully late, so I better sign off for now.

It’s good to see you again, July. I missed you.