August in Los Angeles, 2019

We looked ridiculous as four grown adults flailing around the park trying to generate enough wind to blow up the red nylon inflatable couch. After several attempts and running starts stunted by, at that point, delirious laughter, we settled for a half-inflated couch that could only accommodate one person at a time, pretending like the backs of our legs didn’t ever-so-slightly skim the dirt beneath the thin nylon of the couch.

It was late August in 2019, and summer was coming to an end. Granted, in Los Angeles, there’s not much of a difference between summer and the rest of the seasons. But summer is still my favorite. There’s a satiny balm that coats the entire city during the summer. The hot air on the trails of Griffith Park, on patios of restaurants and cafes in Venice, even in my car before the A/C kicks in, toasts the skin, dries it out, so that it seems the only way to rehydrate is to dive into a pool, the perpetually icy Pacific, or turn the shower water cold for 30 seconds at a time. A lot of people hate the summer heat. But it’s my favorite feeling.

It is now late July in 2020--the satiny balm is thickening, and I’ve been inside for almost all of it, as has most of the world. While I miss traveling to new places, I’ve missed my own city the most. When I look at this photo, it transports me back to that picnic in Hotchkiss park with my friends, an inflatable couch, fresh fruit, jalapeño chips, and no plans.

This photo was shot on Kodak Ultramax 400 color film with a ProMaster 2500PK Super SLR camera with a 50 mm lens. Without knowing it at the time of pressing the shutter release, this would soon become the image that now defines how I want to capture the moments of my life.

My friend sitting cross-legged in the grass while eating a peach amongst a pile of our purses and bags, a mundane moment, turned somehow special with flecks of something magical dusted over it, that satiny balm seeping into how the light chose to filter in through the thin cotton clouds.

My memories return tactile. I know how each visual element feels--the frayed tendrils of the flesh of the peach akin to the frayed edges of the denim, the pills of the sea foam shirt against the grain of the blurred grass, the burnt orange suede of the purse strap splattered across the frame in the shadows of the peach and the design on the shirt--a cornucopia of textures and colors.

It’s a microcosm of a moment to me, where nothing is complete and everything is inchoate. My mind fills in the rest of everything out of frame--my friends shading their eyes and unlacing their shoes, our eerily good parking spot right at the park entrance, the church group missionaries that showed up out of nowhere attempting to convert us, the strangers sitting not too far off enjoying the same patch of grass and their own version of August in Los Angeles.

It is now late July in 2020--and the pool of my imagination is evaporating, diluting the balm that I used to feel so palpably. And I feel like I’m failing. Today is for remembering yesterday and imagining what tomorrow could be.

There is an entire world in my backyard. There are peaches to be eaten, shirts to be pilled, sunbeams to be soaked. And I’ll hang up this photo to remind myself to eat the peach until I get to the seed--to, instead of throwing it in the trash when I’m done, plant the seed in soil, water it, and watch the fruit bloom.

Adrianne Lenker's music is somehow perfect during every season.