Elmwood in July

After three weeks away from Brooklyn and reliable internet, I'm home again if only for a hot minute. The city is scorching and I'm rethinking my stance on AC, helped along by the fact that I can't sleep and am sticking to everything I touch. 

I had a birthday early in the month, but by now the statute of limitations has passed to get too excited over it. I ate an extra large blueberry pancake the day of, poked around some antique stores and quietly grew into an old lady, grey hairs and all. There were flowers, photos and family, too.

This has been a sleepy summer so far. I've watched the garden go from foxgloves, mock orange, roses and japanese dogwood to crabapples, poppies, zinnias and hydrangea, a very rare treat for a city girl. There was a day last week when I gathered blueberries, raspberries and black raspberries in one bowl and had telltale stained fingers. Yesterday I could do nothing but lay in bed with the fan on high. I wilt in the heat, but this wilting is what I want all winter long.