A moth I had not seen before landed on the wall of the garden. I hated to admit it, but its triangular shape reminded me of one of those futuristic stealth bombers. When you live in a state of constant warfare -- as the past weeks/months/decades seem to have made clear -- it's difficult not to think in militaristic terms, even in a garden. I was relieved to note that, when it flew, it fluttered exactly like a moth. Last week, the annual grape harvest began in earnest. Given the effort it had taken to care for one grape vine, I felt more encouraged about society as I considered the staggering task of growing and distributing food for eight billion people. Some senior vice president at Amazon/Google/Microsoft/Apple/Monsanto/RandomHousePenguin probably has an enormous spreadsheet laying it all out for the members of their team. The pendulous cross-vine flowers continue to be a highlight of the August garden. The rain and cool temperatures have kept things lush. And a little too dark, actually, which is why we scheduled a tree pruning for the birch now, instead of waiting for the spring. Our statue is almost completely hidden under the trees; it seems like a pretty ideal way to live. After the rains, I walked past Bryant Park and said hello to my old friends, the sycamores. Times Square remained chaotic. If "blocking the box" were an Olympic event, this bus would win a gold medal for its performance at the intersection of Seventh Avenue and 42nd Street. Uptown, I concentrated on the eagle perched on the edge of the fire station, which was about to fly off into the azure sky. It was good to be welcomed home by someone who had spent the day under the trees, listening to the birds.