July Makes A Poet Of You

A Love Letter to Simple Joys

Dear Pure Hearts,

There’s something about July that makes me want to write love letters to ordinary things. Maybe it’s the way the late afternoon light pools golden on a Tribeca stoop, or how the sound of a distant ice cream truck can make a Tuesday feel like a celebration.

This month, I’ve been collecting moments like pressing flowers, each one a small reminder that joy doesn’t always arrive in grand gestures—sometimes it’s as simple as the perfect bite of cold pasta salad on a sweltering day.

Yesterday, I watched from a bench as kids turned on the fire hydrant down the block, their laughter mixing with the spray and the salsa trap music banging from an suv passing by.

The city in summer is a symphony of small delights: the hiss of vegan burgers hitting a hot grill in Prospect Park, the satisfying thunk of a perfectly ripe tomato being sliced, the way strangers make eye contact and actually smile when they’re both seeking shade under the same cafe awning.

I’ve been thinking about how we document these moments—not just with our cameras, but with our bodies.

The way we remember the exact temperature of lake water against our skin, or how our shoulders feel after an afternoon of lazy swimming.

The muscle memory of tossing a frisbee, the ritual of packing a cooler, the particular satisfaction of eating something delicious with your hands while sitting on a blanket.

There’s poetry in the mundane rituals of summer. The way we curate our perfect pasta salad (mine always has too much basil, but that’s the point).

How we become architects of small gatherings, arranging folding chairs and stringing lights like we’re creating temporary temples to friendship.

The sacred act of doing absolutely nothing in a park, watching clouds rearrange themselves while children chase bubbles nearby.

In Central Park last weekend, I witnessed a moment that felt like pure magic: an elderly man feeding pigeons while sketching in a worn notebook, completely absorbed in his dual acts of creation and care.

A few feet away, a woman was reading under a tree, occasionally looking up to watch the light change through the leaves. These pockets of stillness in the city felt like secret rooms, spaces where time moves differently and creativity breathes.

I’ve been carrying a small notebook everywhere this month, not for any grand literary purpose, but to catch these fleeting observations.

The way the subway platform feels like a cave when you emerge into blazing sunlight. How the smell of someone’s barbecue can transport you to every summer of your childhood in a single inhale.

The particular joy of finding the perfect spot in a crowded park, that little patch of grass that feels like it was waiting just for you.

There’s something about July that makes me want to fall in love with life all over again. Maybe it’s because summer gives us permission to slow down, to say yes to last-minute plans, to eat dinner at 9 PM because the light is too beautiful to waste.

Or maybe it’s because this month reminds us that happiness often lives in the spaces between our plans—in the pause before diving into cool water, in the moment when everyone at the barbecue is laughing at once, in the quiet contentment of watching your city come alive at dusk.

A ton of Vegan recipes

So here’s to July, to simple joys, to the poetry hiding in pasta salads and the profound beauty of doing nothing productive in a park.

Here’s to the creators and dreamers finding inspiration in ice cream trucks and fire hydrants, to the way summer makes philosophers of us all, contemplating life from beach chairs and fire escapes.

Vegan Carbonara 🍝🥓🫘

May your days be filled with the kind of moments that make you grateful to be alive, breathing, present in this beautiful, chaotic, endlessly surprising world.

With love and light,

Your fellow observer of small wonders

P.S. If you’re reading this from anywhere other than a shady spot with something cold to drink, I highly recommend remedying that situation immediately.

Life is too short for hot phones and warm beverages in July.

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