On this day I was hoping for pictures of window boxes because the houses in Edgartown always have such lovely window boxes in summertime and I wanted to see them and write about them (the whole idea of window boxes intrigues me—these little gardens underneath windows and the fascinating planting combinations that people come up with and how it really changes the whole impression one has of the house and of the person who thought to put them there…) but the pictures were not working out (I don’t remember exactly why). Still, we were determined not to panic about the storm that was coming, so while almost everyone else was on their cell phones trying to get off the island, we were strolling through the streets on a Saturday afternoon as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening, trying to capture the window boxes. Then I saw this window with its very own kind of garden—a garden of twisting wisteria, a windowsill full of favorite things (which, in my mind, is another kind of garden and gardener that I began to imagine all sorts of things about…), and the reflection of the house across the street, and even though my husband was tired of it all (the window boxes and the trying not to panic) and said he couldn’t get a decent shot of that, I knew that he would…and that the window boxes could wait until next time.