Blue sky behind light-bleached buildings is the first thing my eyes hold each morning. Blue is an extravagance after those gull-mourned misty Scottish mornings. Waking up feeling safe and calm and quiet in the sun each morning is so unexpected and delightful.

I can almost hear autumn like a train in the distance and can nearly smell puffs of woodsmoke. I have waited 7 years for an East Coast autumn, and instants of its arrival are like a soothing homecoming after a summer of goodbyes.

I started this post weeks ago with a long ramble about why I hadn’t been blogging. I excused my lack of posts with the difficulty of finding beauty here and even wrote that beauty was not floating on the surface here like iridescent oil, as it was for me in Europe. But the reason I haven't written is quite simple—I’ve been busy, and simple can’t write when I have too much pressure on my pen. There have been a lot of interviews, medical appointments, and applications in the past couple weeks. But here I am tonight in the first whiff of autumn, with calm to write. I started freelancing today, and I am grateful for the routine and the pressure being lifted off my words. Plus, people bring their friendly dogs to my uber-hip temporary office, and who wouldn't smile as friendly little dogs wander under their desk searching for edible paper shreds?

Thank you, my lovely readers, for stilling reading; I'm so very glad to be back tonight with instants of the past month.

There are always windows, and they are always open. (Speaking of which, I saw a man sitting on the ledge outside his open second-story window in Chelsea today, smoking. I felt like I was in the '40s.)

As we've been skipping the subway because of things like hurricanes, we've been expeditioning in nearby Brooklyn Heights recently, enjoying its gentrified charm, old trees, and famed promenade.

But I still love walking back into our pie slice of Brooklyn with its new sidewalks, cobbled streets, and ice cream abundance.

I love the intentionally savored character of the warehouses and cobblestones and railway tracks that have been kept.

I cried a lot this past weekend remembering ten years ago, and we walked as always, stopping by huddled candles and wreaths and photos. Remembering it made each moment seem so alive, so blue, so precious.

We celebrated our first anniversary weekend with the wedding of life-long friends (and a fabulously fun experience shooting the photos together), downing the best blueberry pancakes in New York, and enjoying a new dinner find. With more time apart, each weekend levitates us into the next week, and Walker's key in the door each night is my new favorite sound. It has been such a good year.

And so here is my scattered and tattered post, not bouncingly giddy or misty-ocean calm. New York is big, and it is hard to find a voice here. So, readers, know that I'm finding it again. Stop by soon for some hot cider and colourful leaves . . . or perhaps some apartment pictures at last. Cheerio!