There was an email in my 'box' this morning which reminded me of the Shakespeare Garden in Central Park. Something about the Joseph Papp Theater. Of course, I had forgotten about the photos I snapped earlier in the summer. Looking at them now (they were taken mid-July), I see how lush this summer has been. It's over now, that is, if the light is any indication, the light more silver than gold as it moves across the building opposite the living-room window. I find myself mourning the putting away of shorts, linen shirts and sandals.
Speaking of mourning: my dear friend David, who died of brain cancer, is in the garden pushing up roses, his ashes having been spread in the flower beds. I didn't go for that event, I must confess, which took place at the dead of dawn. Not because of the early hour, mind you. It just seems, well... you would have to have known David. He of the clear-eyed quip would have found it funny. When I am in the garden now, I think of this and smile.