ode on delightful neighbors, or, cake

S is my neighbor, and I sometimes watch her cat. His name is Baudelaire, and he is poetic, with a little goatee and a smidge of ennui.

Yesterday S knocked on my door and brought me cake: apple and lavender cake made with dried lavender from her own mother's west-coast garden. It may also have real vanilla in it. I am eating it now, gearing up to work on an essay revision I've been putting off, and it is utterly inspirational. I'm not sure if I'm being inspired to work on the revision or inspired to move to France and plant a garden, but either way, I'm inspired.

Thank you, S.