In summer, the garden is a dense green tangle. A vine, knitted on itself, creates a green-roofed room. Deep red flowes bloom from it during the months of intense heat. The vine's branches entwine with those of the clementine tree, that attracts rock doves, horneros, and kiskadees. 

 

In winter, the cold is a damp thing that gets to your bones. The garden quiets and loses its vibrance. 

 

On a surprisingly warm winter day, my grandmother went outside for the first time in weeks. There were three birds, just as suprised by the heat, perched on the clementine tree. I took these photos as she sat, reading the morning paper and listening to them sing.