(Yet again, a post posted weeks after it was written. Someday my wheels will sink bank onto the right track.) The word 'cover letter' is starting to sound like 'get me out of here' today, so excuse my short-and-sweet post. It'll be like an espresso---only the good stuff and none of the fluff.

I'm taking you on a walk around our neighborhood today, and likely will be for the rest of the time we're here. It doesn't show in the photos, but I've decided we live in the Ice Cream District. Organic. Most natural. Most unnatural. Lowest fat. Yogo. Brooklyn Ice Cream. Jacques Torres. You name it, babe.

The Ice Cream District also boasts the best kiddie park in the City, complete with a ship cutting through the sands of childhood with ease and a fountain makin' the waves. It's a little busy with the Brooklyn Bridge, but the masts are on the far left. And we have a beach. It smells like salt.

We also have noise when the N train passes, but inside, it's quiet as a field mouse. I go around searching for shadows as if it's my job.

There might be pigeons in the park (insert shiver), but there are also hidden smiley faces and driftwood, even if it was placed there strategically.

The nabe boasts not one, but two bridges. One of them is pretty famous. So famous that at any given time on a weekend, we can peak out our window and see brides and grooms posing as if they owned it all. It makes me laugh.

We have exuberant foliage in our park. Plants do grow in Brooklyn, and if you stick with me, you'll see a lot more upcoming. That I can see green, water, and a skyline out my window is worth a big smile.

And the nabe boasts that it's the home of the handsomest man in the world. He lives with me in this splendid place.

We like it here. We like the artists and ice cream vendors, the local green cleaners and our favorite local restaurant. We like coming home from Manhattan and walking the cobbled streets. We like that it's starting to feel like our place. We can breathe here.