One gardener's observations, discoveries and random thoughts whilst simultaneously worshipping and dallying in a Cape Cod garden. "A garden," said Ralph Waldo Emerson, "is like those pernicious machineries which catch a man's coatskirt or his hand, and draw in his arm, his leg and his whole body to irresistable destruction."

Skies of Solstice



So it’s over the bridge, and I’ve escaped the Cape, happy not to be amongst the unhappy, unmoving band in the cars and trucks and SUVs parked in what are usually the eastbound lanes of Route 6.

The trip is a long one, but not unpleasant. The scenery’s some of the best and the ever-changing sky as the journey progresses, passing through weather patterns and chasing the setting sun, is a show all its own.

What possible words could I come up with to narrate the sky, without sounding like some half-baked intern meteorologist? I really don’t know Clouds at all.

I let them speak for themselves and wish you all Good Solstice.











Around 9:40 p.m., Indian Lake NY. The longest day draws to a quiet close.

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