I do relish the the thought of the warm weather compensation I got at the store today: the first watermelon of the season. May's watermelons are frequently not too good— they are usually at their best here in late June and early July— but as the weather has been unusually mild this year I am hoping that this melon will be an exception to the rule. I'll wait until tomorrow to cut it, giving me another night of delicious anticipation.
I also bought pie. It is a nice cream pie, so there will be no baking needed. It's about time to retire the oven for the season, though I'll undoubtedly use the broiler now and then to make garlic toast, which takes only two or three minutes. But it will be mostly stove top and microwaved meals, and cold or toasted sandwiches, from here on out.
The jasmine blossoms are approaching their peak, and the green of the hedge has all but vanished under their coat of white. Event he faint light of this evening's crescent moon was sufficient to make the hedge glimmer faintly, except where the densest shade of the walnut leaves obscured it. The scent, too, is near its peak, still fresh and sweet, with no hint of the coming decay in it. The odor of decay will not be long delayed with the onset of hot days, and spots of shriveling brown petals will soon spread among the white blossoms. Some people find autumn a sad season, but I delight in its festive colors and the bracing chill its nights are apt to bring. It is the decline of spring into summer that is sad, with all the wilted flowers, and the enervating heat.
But tonight it is still spring, and the crickets are singing its praises. I will go out and let the soft, cool breezes wash the fragrance of jasmine over me, and watch the clouds glow as the crescent moon settles into the pine trees.