Midsummer

It’s midsummer already. The leaves are fat and heavy on the trees, and some of the big leaf maples are showing signs of mildew.

The first blackberries are ripe in the sunny corners, still a mite tart but refreshing during my walk. I always try to pick from underneath if I can – that way I can see which are the heaviest and the ripest.

The recent rain has revived most of the grass, but the grass growing in cracks and along the edge of the road is still straw-gray and dead. The clovers are blackening but the tansy is out in masses of glorious golden yellow. they say tansy repels insects so I pick a generous bunch and stick them in an old coffee pot by the open window. It seems to work, but then, the cats deal death to any bugs that enter the house anyway.

Down by the river the fishermen are hopefully casting lines out from the banks into the deep water. There are so few fish in the Fraser this year that I think they must be doing it jt for the pleasure of sitting beside the water in the warm sun.

In the still of the evening, with the sun going down ever more southerly, a raven in the tall Douglas fir gives his whiskey-voiced croak amid lengthening shadows. Most of the mountain tops are hidden in cloud and the river appears motionless.

It’s time to put on a fleece and wathc the sun set.

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