July
Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots and gillyflowers.
Sunny July was named by the Roman Senate for Julius Cæsar. Born in July to a prestigious Roman family, Julius Cæsar traced his lineage back to the goddess Venus. July’s heat makes us inclined to shed our inhibitions along with our clothes, at least for a little while. Summer break is in full swing, trips to find bodies of water are indulged, and generally speaking, hanging out is the order of the day. It is a time to let freedom ring, to celebrate our independence, and when we can remember our untethered selves.
Birth Customs of July
July Flower
Brightly painted butterflies
incline me to romanticize
the lovely larkspur on display
welcoming this July day
July Zodiac
July is full of hearth and home
With Cancer sitting on the throne
Then chased off by jungle’s king
Leo rules the partying
July Stone
The gleaming Ruby should adorn,
All those who in July are born,
For thus they’ll be exempt and free,
From lover’s doubts and anxiety.
Magic of July
Correspondences
Herbs: Honeysuckle
Totems: Crab, Turtle, Whale
Stones: Moonstone
Birthstone: Ruby
Birth Flower: Larkspur
Celtic Trees: Hazel (or Apple) & Vine
Nature Spirits: Hobgoblins
Spellwork
Relax
Play
Divine
Plan
Love
Aromatherapy
Sun Kissed
2 drops Juniper
2 drops Grapefruit
2 drops Orange
Meditation
Freedom lies in being bold.
Robert Frost
Science of July
Astronomy
Name: July
Length: 30 Days
New Moon: July 2nd
Total Solar Eclipse: July 2nd
Full Moon: July 16th
Partial Lunar Eclipse: July 16th
Zodiac: Cancer & Leo
Full Moon
Colonial American: Summer Moon
Celtic: Claiming Moon
Chinese: Hungary Moon
Choctaw: Crane Moon
Old English: Mead Moon
Poetry for July
London in July
What ails my senses thus to cheat?
What is it ails the place,
That all the people in the street
Should wear one woman’s face?
The London trees are dusty-brown
Beneath the summer sky;
My love, she dwells in London town,
Nor leaves it in July.
O various and intricate maze,
Wide waste of square and street;
Where, missing through unnumbered days,
We twain at last may meet!
And who cries out on crowd and mart?
Who prates of stream and sea?
The summer in the city’s heart–
That is enough for me.
July
Sweet July, warm July!
Month when mosses near the stream,
Soft green mosses thick and shy,
Are a rapture and a dream.
Summer Queen! whose foot the fern
Fades beneath while chestnuts burn;
I welcome thee with thy fierce love,
Gloom below and gleam above.
Though all the forest trees hang dumb,
With dense leafiness o’ercome;
Though the nightingale and thrush,
Pipe not from the bough or bush;
Come to me with thy lustrous eye,
Azure-melting westerly,
The raptures of thy face unfold,
And welcome in thy robes of gold!
Tho’ the nightingale broods—’sweet-chuck-sweet’ –
And the ouzel flutes so chill,
Tho’ the throstle gives but one shrilly trill
To the nightingale’s ‘sweet-sweet.’
I Have Hope in Who I am Becoming
I have hope in who I am becoming.
I have belief in every scar and disgraceful word
I have ever spoken
or been told
because it is still teaching me
and I have hope in who I am becoming.
They say it takes 756 days to run to someone you love
and they also say that the only romance worth fighting for
is the one with yourself
and I know by now
that they say a lot of things,
people talking everywhere
without saying a word,
but if it took me all those years to learn myself
or teach myself
how to look into the mirror
without breaking it
I know for a fact that it was a fight worth fighting.
I stood up for my own head and so did my heart
and we are coming to terms with ourselves.
Shaking hands, saying ”let’s make this work
for we have places to go
and people to see
and we will need each other”
So I have hope
in who I am becoming.
It’s July
and I have hope in who I am becoming.
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Calendar of July
