two juleps

Two juleps closer to Bette Davis. These photographs are more or less, from the day I had my first mint julep of the year. It is seasonably warm now and by the end of the day, I am easily aggravated and in need of a cool bath, with a small bowl of ice cream with rose water and rhubarb syrup drizzled generously. I collapse into bed, clean and damp, and fall asleep so swiftly it is as if I am adding dream capsules to my simple syrups.

Life is unfurling, and it is a large task. I found myself in a small, unreasonable panic last night, rolling crushed ice in my mouth, listening to T. speak, at the thought of returning to winter so soon. For now, there are short sleeves and the thinnest layers. The roses are beginning to show face and this morning, a grandfather and a small boy I have seen before, sat across from me on the train. The small boy grabbed a pink slip of paper from the elder's pocket. FLUSHING, QUEENS in bold black. Six folds and a paper airplane was formed, careening through space and crashing into the small palm of the child. It was enough to get me through the morning.