Cities often suffer in the summer. Once that heat gets into the concrete and the subways, it’s there until October. Still, there are spaces and moments of reprieve, such as in the dappled shade afforded by street trees, or the increasingly-landscaped stretches of the Southwest Corridor Park, where these photos were taken.
Here, some snowdrop anemones and blue flags find comfort beneath the filtered sunlight before the heat becomes unbearable.
At this early stage of the season, everything is still fresh, everything is still cool. The greens are softer, the edges pristine, and the blossoms unripped by hot winds.
It’s the secret side of Boston, unknown to tourists, and often unnoticed by locals, and I hold it more dear because of that.
The lips of an iris are sealed, the petals of an anemone silent.
Sometimes summer doesn’t shout – sometimes it whispers.
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