london, spring.

here we are, summer's end, and i want to write, at long last, about how it began: 

life has been so funny, so mysterious, of late. i feel tides gently shifting around us, stirring the deepest things. we've spent spring and summer settling into new work that carries chris abroad for stretches. it's only temporary, only through december, but we've joyfully, gratefully, hitched our wagon to this fleeting star. for all the uncertainty, for all the nights falling asleep to what shall we do?, it's not lost on us that grand adventure often blooms in the midst of all we cannot see. 

and so, london, deep may, a tangle of roses, swan-hours lived and loved along the serpentine, a symphony of parakeets in the trees of st. james park. we found a rhythm that hummed of our days at home in new york: waking slow with coffee and breakfast at our kensington flat, morning strolls in gauzy light, afternoon romps in hyde park and the heath, time punctuated by papa's commute, dinners with friends, museums uncountable. it was such a deeply beautiful time to be in london -- the loveliest season, i imagine, to be a local. wisteria clinging to the breeze. two straight weeks of sunshine. only ever steps from roses.