July 4th, 2020

sol

"They're whispering his name through this disappearing land..."

Today, with the heat index, we reached 100˚F. The light had that quality, as if the world might, at any moment, burst into flame. I mostly hid in my dark office. Now it's only 78˚F, 80˚F with the heat index.

I began reading The Seven Pillars of Wisdom.

Tonight there are cicadas in the cool air after the heat.

We could hear the fireworks on Red Mountain, not very far away.

Today is the 109th anniversary of my Grandpa Gordy Monroe Ramey's birth. He was born in 1911 and died of emphysema in 1977, at the age of only 65.

And it was, genuinely, the strangest, most unsettling Fourth of July of my entire life. I can only hope for better things and a return to some semblance of normalcy by this time next year.

Later,
Aunt Beast




11:05 p.m.