I’ve been thinking about gardens a lot - they always have a perimeter - a boundary- no matter how well-cultivated they are. 

My desk is my garden right now. To my right is the thorny arm of a mandarin tree in my favourite vase with a single perfect orange fruit at its top. In front of me is a mess —a tangle of incoherent thoughts and feelings that I will have to uproot and dirty my hands to really separate and understand. Exactly like a garden. I only recently learned how to enforce a boundary around my writing practice to ensure it survives the winter. 

I’ve always welcomed the conversation of beautiful women- it’s just always worked out for me. I believe style can osmotically be transferred through the atmosphere of an interesting woman. I think the kids call it aura harvesting these days or something. 

I can remember one of the first things Cedar and I spoke about, and it was past lives and stars, I’m pretty sure. She is the kind of person who listens to her sleeping dreams and pays attention to change. Basically, the ideal person to enjoy a garden with. 

And costume is important- feeling comfortable and stylish. The Marsh Chef Pant in green and white is incredibly delicious to sit down and write in. A magical time was spent where I just draped myself around my house and backyard, full of attitude, and Cedar did all the work. 

I wouldn’t let her leave until I’d shown her some of my weirdest, rarest books. A perfect afternoon.