JBs Birthday celebration at Soda, where she had to suffer the humiliation of sharing the lounge with a party for a three year old who had way more balloons than she did, brought me the good fortune of passing the Prospect Heights Community Farm when the gate was open. I hope it cheered up my friend to receive a copy the first issue of Glossator for a present. Having recently written on Benjamin herself, I thought she'd take an interest. The vanilla smell it had when I unboxed it had faded, and I considered giving it a douse, but thought the singularly pleasing essays are more than satisfying without any added aroma.
The plants in the PH garden struck me as Indian Summer emboldened, Beauty Berries laying the purple on especially thick, Rosemary and Lavender bushes the size of frisky St. Bernards, tomatoes which apparently never heard about the blight. In the front, blue flowers and hollyhocks wagged through the fence, fresh as Mardis Gras revelers, except for the shy one, who turned her transparent face away.
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