After a year or more of brewing mugicha on my fire escape next to some sad terra-cotta pots that contained equal amounts of dried-up organic matter and cigarette butts, and after a rash of move-outs on my floor of my building, I decided it was safe for me to do some commandeering:















I know, it doesn't look like much, but I am banking on that basil and parsley to grow like the dickens. And I do have another pot waiting in the wings for some other delectable. Maybe arugula?

Oh, and speaking of urban gardening, I finally got an avocado off the tree in the backyard before that squirrel got to it. You know the one: lustrous coat, a look of contentment in his gleaming eyes, plump little body, and a big ol' fluffy tail (as compared to the squirrels that subsist on french fries in Mosswood Park: greasy, eyes full of mistrust and fear, emaciated, with tails like half-eaten corn cobs).

Anyway, although he can climb quite well, he always snags the low-hanging fruit and eats only the tops or just takes a few bites out of them to render them useless, and then leaves them in the picnic area to taunt me.















This is my coup!



















Victory never (presumably) tasted so in need of a good week in a paper bag on my countertop.