So perfect, so tragic…

So Anne Marie, tell me about Monsters and Angels in one sentence.

How about one picture?


“We don’t choose who we love.”

                        -Sorcha Alden

Missing my garden


New York City bodegas amaze me. Anything and everything you could possibly need–24/7, including a bouquet in a pinch. I can’t help but stop and enjoy fresh cut flowers spilling onto the sidewalk. The scents draw me like a magnet but nothing nearly as strong as my favorite, Night Jasmine.

Queen of the Night.

The call of the elusive flower is one my first memories of New Orleans–that and the humidity. Scent so light it carries for blocks, but so heavy it lingers in the back of my throat where I can taste it for hours.

I’m sure my private garden at home has run wild–again–the fragrance must be overwhelming. That’s the thing about Jasmine–you can walk by it all day and not smell a thing, but when it blooms, in the dead of the night, you can’t escape the magic.

Home in twenty days.