Today’s post is the second and final post I will write to you from my New York trip. And for some of you, it might sound like an awkward combination, but the post is about the oranges in New York. I didn’t prepare this to be the way it is, but from the very few pictures that I have form this NY trip, which is very unfortunate, orange screamed out to me the most.
I would like to start with the pumpkin soup I had at Le Bilboquet yesterday. The soup gave me that warm feeling you get when you think of an afternoon spent in front of the fireplace, under an oversized blanket, with your favorite book in one hand, a tea on the other, and the smell off cinnamon filling the air. Or at least that’s what it made me feel like.
The next orange is my hair, which my stepdad, who I grow to appreciate and love more – probably because I’m starting to reach that age and maturity of understanding him – had someone fix the roots of. My hairpiece also has orange in it, and when I had brown hair whenever I wore a headpiece, it would disappear, but with this color, it pops. I’ve never loved the way my hair looked more.
And finally, the orange of Central Park. I’ve borrowed this picture form my mother, who seems to have been doing everything the family wanted except what she wanted, because that’s the kind of woman she is. There is not wonder why New York overwhelms people, but these solemn beauties make it so unique…