View from the middle

I went up to my roof to get to thinking a few nights ago and I discovered my favorite places have more in common than I thought. A relief, really, to bend the laws of time and space to go somewhere your heart wants to be.

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.

City mouse

New York is pretty much perfect right now. The weather is cool and the roses are still kicking. The museums were all free last night and Shakespeare in the Park has already started. I took a windows-down cab ride along 5th avenue and the boy I was with let me sit parkside so I could enjoy the view. I truly and honestly love my city, the city to end all cities, but I just can't for the life of me figure out if I'm a city girl masquerading as a country mouse or vise versa. Or worse, both.
This conundrum has been rattling around in my brain for 9 years now and it's painfully obvious. I can't remember that last time I shared anything remotely city (maybe my trip to the Met?), a pretty funny omission since I live in the citiest of all cities around. One of my looming summer goals is to really try to love New York not just in a theoretical way. Love it through experiencing it, of course, and also love it by getting the hell out of it as much as possible.

Times like now

Sometimes I have a little story I'm dying to tell you but don't have quite the right photos to go along with it. Other times I have some pretty little photos I want you to see but nothing quite right to say along side them. Most of the time, even if I have both a nice story and some photos for you, the only way I can even write anything is to pretend like you're not reading this at all. Times like this, times like now, I tuck my head down and soldier on.
I was walking to the old train tracks along the border of Elmwood's property when I saw this truck parked. A glorious green little 70s baby, historic plates and a collection of turkey feathers gathered along the dash. Unlocked, windows down. Pretty much perfect.

I walked along the tracks until I reached the trestle and saw a pair of boys fishing down off the path. I blindly took some photos of the pond, just to have purpose for being there. One boy saw me and made his way up to say hello. We chatted for just a moment, something about the number of bugs and how the day's forecast had been wrong, no rain but just humid haze. He was a baby, but baby handsome, too, and in a way that was completely unaware of how many boys in Brooklyn romanticize a life like that. I turned and walked back along the tracks, happy to know that other people put turkey feathers along their dash, too.