Last of the summer jam

The last of the season's apricots at Union Square. Their blushed orange hides caught my eye and as I paused the seller, a young boy, held out half an apricot for me to taste. Warm, sweet, dripping with juice. Not, in fact, the best to make jam out of, but I had to. My first batch earlier in the year was made with Californian apricots, and I had promised myself a New York State bottling. The best apricots for jam are those that are slightly under-ripe, according to Mrs Robertson's instructions. More pectin.

So I have four and a half pounds of fruit swimming in their own juices in my red Le Creuset stock pot, after sitting in organic, caramel-coloured sugar overnight. As soon as I get back from my potting-soil-buying expedition I will start the sticky business. Then I think no more jam. I am jammed out.

Well...maybe plum jam. I've never made it before...

It is a bright blue day with herds of puffy white clouds crossing the sky in a scene reminiscent of September, that lovely New York month. I think it must have been September's light that lured Matisse to paint in this city. Even as I write the skylight overhead is creaking as it heats up, but today's forecast 8o' F have more than a hint of relief in them. The humidity's down, the air is not white and thick, and every tree and building has the edge of clarity to it so untypical of a summer, and so foretelling of fall, in the North East.