On Sunday we returned from our wide, green weekend. Sometimes you do not know that you are missing something until you are wrapped in it. I'll write about the woods near Tarrytown, tomorrow.
We came from a perfect day in the Hudson Valley to a perfect day in South Brooklyn, and after giving my last Edibles class at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden I joined Vincent on the roof for a G&B. Yes, B. Bitter lemon. T has been shoved aside. As we sat facing the still very much unset 7pm sun, a long straight wall of dark lilac-grey appeared in the south, from east to west. New weather. New season. By the time I was back in the kitchen grilling our four-alarm chicken, the wall was a roof between us and all that perfect blue. Good light, though.
The Icebergs, above, the New Dawn, below. In a month I'll take the same picture and you'll see the difference - I hope. Big tomatoes, dwarfing big pots. Almost unimaginable, now.
I deadhead roses every day, coaxing a second flush from the climbers, whose petals drop daily to the terrace floor.
Good night, New Dawn.
Soon the terrace shrub roses will bloom. I look forward to Munstead Wood, especially. How will the red roses cope with summer's approaching heat?
We shall see.