It was yet another grey, damp and melancholic morning. The plants bent over under the weight of rain from the night before. The benches were still wet in the pavilion of the Japanese garden at the BBG. I lingered here thinking how much my father would have loved this place, especially on a day like this, when the place is silent and empty of tourists.
Everyone I know has been waiting in vain for summer to appear, and yet, in the garden, summer has been quietly settling in. The summer flowers have come in full force, including these massive clumps of the tiniest delicate blooms, Sorbaria kirlowii, their color white, so pristine and striking against the dark foliage. They cheered me up.