Hot sultry day, 94 in Hudson. Inside the house, window shades are strategically tilted and drawn, ceiling fans are going. I have a tall glass of ice water. I made sure to water the planting beds and hanging baskets and let the hose run into the frog pond to cool it down a bit.

Took a walk at the conservation area this morning and went back later to take pictures of the beautiful flowers and grasses in bloom. Fragrant rosa multiflora is clambering over everything, even up into trees, though I don't believe destructively. Pink and white clover are mixed with - buttercups? I don't know the name. This morning, too, I saw at least two varieties of beautiful tiny songbirds that I haven't seen before and can't name. I would like to make a point of going there one day soon armed with my Sibley's, a library book on northeastern wildflowers, paper and pen, and note precise names of species.










Stopped by a farmstand for spinach, but it seems that it's done for the season - we're on to strawberries. So fragrant and beautiful. As I drove I kept my left hand on the wheel and reached with my right to the quart that sat in the passenger seat. Eyes on the road, mind elsewhere, I consumed berries one by one, placing each whole in my mouth, biting at the stem, savoring full tart fruit, sweet swallows, desiring more, reaching for another - compensations for kisses.

image: Strawberries in a bowl, along with vase of flowers I cut from the garden. Let's see, peonies, veronica, campanula (I think), geranium 'Johnson's blue'...






It's a number of hours later now, after five. Dinner will be last night's grilled chicken and a salad with colorful lettuces from the garden. Strawberries are in the fridge. I'm sipping berry rosé. I'm wearing my favorite tee, dark berry color, soft. I'm not up enough on buttercups and scarlet tanagers, but I'm a connoisseur of cottons, berry shades, rosés, roses, and kisses, yours darling, your rosy lips and mine, ash roses in our cheeks, our berried bodies flushed with pink...