These are the rare perfect nights here in Washington, when the weather is pleasant and civil. When you can sit outside on your patio, the hum of an AM radio droning in the background, the chirping of the robins dying down. The sky is robin’s egg blue, slowly heading for midnight blue. The breeze wafts in the smell of mown grass and freshly turned soil.
It’s the nights that make me love this town. In Summer, they swelter, and your clothes cling and stick, as if pressed down with a wet army blanket. In Fall, you can smell the fireplaces, the leaves, and the dew. In Winter, the smells of snow and of brisk cold and the fires down the street.
Tonight I can smell the charcoal grill two blocks over, sweet and gentle on the air.
All our windows are flung wide, the smell of springtime suffusing the house. I can almost smell my roses from here.
This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs