It’s a hot, muggy, sticky day, with thunder likely later. Its hot enough that Nori is being particular about food, leaving more than usual in her dish. Its very dry so rain is desired and would be welcomed.

Monday evening the birds were unusually vocal; I tried recording them on the tablet but with less than usable results. I thought about getting up and fetching an actual field recorder but I put it off until another evening. During the day, the gray catbird pair who have guarded our gardens since early spring were joined by a throng of other birds, including our first returned chick-a-dee, in a large mixed flock.

Since Tuesday the gardens have been largely vacant and the evenings much quieter. It is almost August so breeding is winding down, and while we have not seen large flocks forming, we assume some birds are, if not actually on their way, preparing to head south. Migrating is an increasingly difficult venture and we wish them well.

Already autumn has appeared, abet at a distance.

Now, here and there, usually among the hedges, one can find ripe raspberries: thorny, rich red, seedy, juicy, tart and heavenly sweet. They persevere in the face of hungry rabbits, turkey, and deer, and return in spite of the mowers’ periodic attacks. I found some on my way home from the library last week. Raspberries cry, “August!” and demand we accept and acknowledge their rich gifts of complexity and persistence.

I’ve been reading Letters To A Writer of Color, edited by Deepa Anappara and Taynour Soomro. Here is a quote from one of the essays, On Character, by TiphanieYanique. It is true I believe for many threatened, marginalized people including those of us with disabilities:

“This ability, to have an interior life that differs from one’s exterior life, is key to the creation of what we sometimes call in craft a round character.Good character development means, in large part, writing each of your people as multiple, contradictory….. People of color, have known this about ourselves, since the beginning of Western imperialism. People of color know ourselves to be round long before we understand this as an artistic concept – we live complexly; we live our truths and our fakings, we live in this hyper-seen skin and flesh. We are aware of the making of ourselves in this way; it is a burden actually. Many who lord power over others have the luxury of self-deception. It is a luxury to be hidden from yourself; it is a luxury to not have to contend with one’s own complexity. This is not a luxury of oppressed people.