Between that short jaunt to California and the palpable change of season, it feels like we took these photos forever ago–but it has been just a little over a week since we walked up the river from the West Village to take a look at that loveliest of little plots, the 91st street garden. Gardeners were out in force, as were the ladybugs and the bees; Aron and I took turns walking around the plantings–and noticing that the grate inside looks all the way down to the train tracks below (hello vertigo)–while Hudson held court with passerbys from a shady bench. (Aron told me the cutest were all the kids who couldn’t believe he hadn’t had a birthday yet: “no, but how old was he at his last birthday?” “Umm… zero?”)

Of course, I can’t help but think of Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks whenever we walk by. (And by the way, if she really wished it were going to be him, why did she go to meet the mystery guy?) It was one of those iconic Manhattan spots I was so excited to visit when we first moved here. I’m happy to report that it never gets old.

I never knew, however, that you can go inside! But the nice folks who were tending to the garden explained otherwise, and invited us in (as long as we stuck to the path).

 (For his part, Hudson was loving the contrasts between the bright sky and the dark leaves.)