I just returned from the farmer's market at the end of Fayetteville Street. This week's fresh fruit and vegetable offerings seem to mark the beginning of the height of the season. Berries and peaches abound. Salads and flowers nearly every other stand. The smell of fresh baked bread wafted in the wind with the sounds of a local band. My guys admiring pretty girls in sundresses; my admiration of my guys in general.
I left with my usual apple strudel from the German baker, guys in tow. The only thing missing from this brief escape from the office was you.
This is never far from my mind.