The spring moon rides low, veiled by trees, its light splashed here and there among shadows, or streaked in long paths on the street. It's color makes me crave vanilla ice cream. The heat in the house reinforces the craving. I have no ice cream of any flavor. June does not please me. I let some carrot juice come very close to freezing. It isn't ice cream, but it is cold and full of little icy bits. Ha! The carrots and I defy you, June!