As the long, cold and bitter (I’m not talking about weather) winter began to drag on too long, I began to wonder how I ever missed New York. How feeling like a sardine and being swept off my feet and catapulted into a subway car was ever appealing. How I could ever walk through a tunnel drenched in the smells of urine and decomp and not heed the appalling aromas.
But as the sunshine found its way back and melted my frozen spirit, I began to see clearly what is so wonderful and magical about NY. I remembered that one can learn how to unconsciously hold their breath and ignore the unpleasantries of the city in exchange for the many wonders it provides.
A simple trip to the hidden oasis of Fort Tryon Park – with its beautiful gardens, lawns and spectacular views of the George Washington Bridge, the Hudson River and Henry Hudson Parkway - helped me gain perspective. Young couples holding hands and waking the park, inspiring artists and poets capturing its beauty through prose and painting, and young mothers ignoring there children as they run-a-muck and nearly knock over an old couple trying to meander the winding paths. I realize that there is something soothing about the large woman in little pants and male runner in pink leopard print spandex; I think it’s the magic of springtime in NY. And, there really is no other place quite like it.
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