An old girl in the garden. This one in magenta, a shade of lipstick your nan might wear. I'll admire them if they're in your front yard (and sometimes trespass to get closer). These flowers towered over me, crepe paper petals dusted with pollen dander. It was mid-August, and fat bees were nudging stamens, acting on the rhythms of nature.
I don't run headlong into flannel season. Letting go of late summer is hard. I know it will come around again. I'll be standing in someone's yard next August. Inshallah, as my friends say.
Who can look away from the events of this week? The images of feminine courage. The fight for autonomy. There's a brute masculine force trying to dictate the terms of women's existence.
You might want to seize the opportunity to read Al Jazeera if your news comes from a singular North American source. There's something beneficial about widening the lens — getting a global perspective.
Here are links to people talking sense and taking action:
It's easy to frame egregious human rights violations as a problem happening elsewhere. When there's plenty of evidence of toxic masculinity all around us.
I chose songs of love. They found me in explore mode on different nights. They've been an antidote to the harshness of the week. I danced in the kitchen on a night there was no reason to.
The sound of the summer of '75 — good medicine.
"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference." — Elie Wiesel
June 17, 1975
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