The last day of July. It’s one of the first endings of the year. Well, there is the end of winter but no one regrets that. And the switch from late spring to early summer never really leaves a ripple. But… July. Spent the other evening watching dusk arrive at a nearby conservation area, listening for bobolinks and kingbirds as they snabbed a few last bugs out over the field. Saw a raven. Heard it croak. Mr. Nature. That’s me. Five Saturdays to Labour Day. But even that date’s lost i...
