Summer is for picnics. And lying out in the park. And nights where your camera wobbles uncontrollably; not sure why but you just wanted this one picture. It's only another wobbly night exposure but the light on the rain-caked cement is nice. It looks like divinity, or the tender sweep of morning sun frosting windows, walls, the interior of a bare apartment.

My apartment wants bareness. To throw out all the clutter and start over, perhaps with a measuring tape I can successfully calculate the dimensions of a new home. In the restaurant beneath La Esquina I decided that I will start with a rope of white lights.

August is a month of change. In Austin, it means the rolling sweep of hills burns gold. Deep indigo sky makes everything feel heavy. I think even the tadpoles keep to the shade in the pond when summer erodes this way. Here, it means departure, of friends, over seas, to stranger shores. it means people leaving. (Also returns, but these are omitted for now.)

I want an aluminum pail. This time of rain water. It will catch the falling petals of every blooming tree in New York and reflect the light purely.