Behind the old row house I live in, the old Japanese maple tree did her best to resist fall. While the ginkos and sugar maples on the street turned shades of candy apple red and gold, she valiantly fought to stay a happy shade of spring green. One afternoon near the end of November while making tea in the kitchen, I looked out the window to see our little tree had finally given in to the season. As a breeze picked up, her yellow-orange leaves fell like confetti on to the brick patio below. I wrapped my favorite scarf around my neck, grabbed my camera, and sipped my cup of tea in her shade in the fading afternoon sun.
These days are busy. I spend most of my time tucked away in a certain famous museum looking at Manet's brush strokes, the ethereal shades of blue in a tutu painted by Degas, and the little goats in a Corot landscape. When I'm not there, I'm running across town to intern at a tiny member-run gallery or finding a moment of peace to read in my favorite coffee shop with a creamy latte by my side. I'm still making photographs, though very slowly with the early dark in the afternoons and the strange brick and mortar landscape, but I'm still working. I have a new internship interview coming up with a famous gallery and a second date with a guy who seems pretty nice (and has cats, ohmygodcatsyay), so cross your fingers and wish on a star for me, darlings. I need all the luck, positive thinking, and prayers, and kitten snuggles I can get.