The grass by the river is being mowed regularly this year. That's new.
In past summers, I sat in the grass surrounded by tall dandelions, chicory, clover, Queen Anne's lace. The plants are still there, but cut short to the ground, and it's harder to find a bloom to draw on the lawn.
On Saturday I went to the river and saw a cluster of chicory on the edge of the rocky bank. I sat down beside it and drew this section of the plant, along the water and under the afternoon sun, which wasn't as hot as an August afternoon sun in New York City is expected to be.
Jose was on the riverbank too, fishing, but he didn't catch anything while I was there. He asked me to draw him casting a line and he posed over and over again in front of me. "No," I said, "I don't draw fishermen." Then he brought me a vine he picked with delicate flowers and little berries on it. I chuckled as I accepted it.
The gift was deadly nightshade, but I don't think he meant anything by it.