"Summer afternoon- summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language..."
As a child, I always imagined Henry James reclining in a pasture somewhere in the English countryside, hat by his side, journal across his lap and sweat upon his lip. And as a single cloud passes across the sky, suffering from a state of both heatstroke and awe, he slowly utters the two most beautiful words that I too ever knew, and realizes that he need say no more.
Regardless of its validity or not, I lived my childhood summers in search of the beauty I imagined he spoke of. I splashed through June and July in Connecticut's ponds and pools and adventured through the trees and backstreams of the deep woods far from the safety of recognizable houses. In my teenage years, I rowed throughout the Long Island sound and jumped off old steel bridges into Lake Lillinonah, and spent my nights chasing the summer moon, with Nick Drake bellowing from my Jeep and as I ran through tall grass fields under the stars.
But when August rolled around, things slowed down. The humidity crept in, and more and more we sought breeze and shade. I read books lying across a long-gone horizontal branch in my favorite tree, and lay sweating on top of my sheets at night in an un-air conditioned house. I caught the wind on my bike, and devoured the fruits of deep summer: berries, melons, and peaches.
"The Peach Pit" is a peach and vanilla bean cupcake with a fresh peach buttercream covered in cobbler crumbs. It's topped by maple-brown sugar buttercream and a little ripe peach slice.
Though I spend most of my days now in a flourescent lit cubicle, and my parents gave in years ago to central air, every once in awhile, I roll down my Jeep's windows on a hot day to feel the August air. Or I get lost on a Connecticut trail. And occasionally, I still sneak outside alone late at night to see my old love, the big summer moon. September may be fast approaching, but summer is not over yet...