Fire escapism

Off my kitchen is my apartment's fire escape, something I've used for years as a graveyard for the empty pots of dead plants past. There is something quintessentially new york about a fire escape, it's romantic and depressing and unless you're vigilant, it's almost always full of something you don't want to keep in the house. A smoldering fry pan that's making the alarm go off goes on the fire escape, without question. Friend's cigarette butts, too.

I've turned over a new leaf and have been cramming mine with a silly amount of plants since I fell in love with Amsterdam's garden tenacity. If I'm allowed to continue unchecked, my fire escape no longer will be able to serve as an escape for actual fires. And we wouldn't want that.

Just today my morning glory seeds pushed through the soil, this variety, which I planted absurdly late in the game. Maybe they'll bloom in the fall, once I trick them into winding around the rail?

I've been standing at my kitchen window all month, dumbstruck and dreaming of having a garden not elevated 3 stories in the air. My eyes glaze over and I don't even mind the quantity of flies now entering my house through the open windows. In terms of reality blurring escapism, foxgloves are a highly recommended gateway drug.