July is the month when I was born.
In Italy, the light-hearted July means sun, hot, sea and happiness, yet these pictures are not cheerful and careless at all.
There's also a reference to Sylvia Plath's "Poppies in July" poem.
The title of this poem is itself ironic, because it's not about a hymn to nature, but an hallucinatory projection of the landscape oh the speaker's mind and dark emotions.
Hallucinations, blood, red, profanity, hell: poppies become uncanny symbols of the gloomiest and darkest secrets.
July as the weirdest and sinister moment of the year and that is the moment when I was born.