Evening Walk

Tonight I went for an early evening walk with The Pooch in the Heather Garden.  It was nearing the end of dusk.  The sun still cut a slice of gold at the horizon.  The sky was cloudless.  Its upper reaches had darkened to ceramic blue.  We sat on the Linden Terrace, Pooch on my lap cuddling his head against my chest.  He has been sick for months.  Most recently his lungs had filled up with fluid from an overdose of steroids.  Then all he wanted to do was to be next to me, even though I wanted nothing more than to see him running around on his own, forgetting about me.  But tonight, on a lower dose of medication, he was feeling better.  We were alone on the Linden Terrace except for the Old Russian Couple, sitting closely together on a bench behind us.  We watched the horizon nuzzle into darkness and then headed home through the garden.  Though the flowers had lost the brilliance of day, their scents had magnified.  I stood on a stone and buried my nose in the lilacs, breathing deeply until my senses were overwhelmed.  This is bliss.  

Spring Tease

Yesterday and the day before brought an early taste of spring to NYC, roughly two weeks after one of the biggest snowstorms in recent memory brought the city to a halt.  I walked to work under a Caribbean blue sky that lifted my mood with the promise of returning life.  For the last several months, I had been trudging through winter's muted grays, my energy level matching the leaden skies.  But tonight The Pooch and I walked through a heather garden recovering from winter's devastation.  Purple crocuses, the first to bring spring's cheer, had sprung up overnight under one of the gnarled trees. White bluebells dotted both sides of the path like stars.  The Pooch and I sat on the Linden Terrace and watched the sky aflame with sunset.  I was reminded of gentler days, when people walk more slowly and smile more easily, when life's trials flow away more gracefully into memories.  Now the weather threatens to turn cold again.  The weatherman has forecast three days of rain.  But tonight's lighter springtime mood will carry me through.  Nature is trustworthy.  No matter how cold the winter, her rebirth brings an end to all the seriousness, reminding us to rejoice in being alive.      

Warm evening!

Today I walked home for the first time in months. There was no subway service past W168th St. (the A line has a will of its own to which residents of Washington Heights must submit). The weather felt spring-like, so I didn't mind the inconvenience. Neither did I mind the cement colored skies threatening rain. The clouds could have opened into a flood and I still would have rejoiced at being outside and not hunched against the cold. The mild temperatures continued into the evening, when The Pooch (nose still drippy but improved) went walking in an empty Heather Garden. Why weren't others taking advantage of this night? We stood on the Linden Terrrace, the lights on the George Washington Bridge twinkling in the distance. The wind sang through the trees overhead, and for the first time in weeks stirred up hopes for the future: for the spring when new leaves would canopy the sunset wine tasting held annually on the Linden Terrace, for a softer, more graceful time. For the last few weeks, I had felt like a leper-- a runaway cold sore had spread across my face and sprouted satellites on my body. Maybe it was the stress of cold weather, or the stress of taking care of The Pooch, or some other stress. I had told myself that I was fine, but it had taken a certain toll. Tonight , feeling myself again with my face almost back to normal, the wind on the Linden Terrace felt almost gentle.

Cicadas

The trees in Fort Tryon have come alive with sound. The constant round-and-round rattle of cicadas fills the ears, like thousands of maracas shaken by phantom mariachis who have taken up residence in the trees. The cicadas fill the trees in the Linden Terrace, and accompany me while I silently watch the sky burn with sunset. The cicadas muffle the whispered Russian and crescendos of Spanish from others enjoying the view. They form a constant backdrop to the drama of nature, a reminder that summer's abundance has neared its zenith. At the entrance to the park, a dead cicada lay on the ground, its fairy wings stretched delicate and vulnerable beneath it. I gathered the insect in leaves and brought it home, careful not to damage its wings. My nephew appreciates such creatures, and I saved it for him. It felt like I was saving summer.

Feeding squirrels

One evening, while I sat on the Linden Terrace and watched the sunset over the Hudson, a man joined me on the other end of my bench. He had a scruffy gray beard and wore a skirt and women's flats. Quietly, he opened a plastic bag and placed a treat for the squirrels on his lap. He waited patiently while a squirrel hesitantly climbed down a neighboring tree. The squirrel rushed onto his lap, snatched up the food and retreated nervously to the tree. The man offered more food, the squirrel accepting with growing confidence. After several more forays, the emboldened squirrel grew lazy. It sat on the man's lap greedily nibbling its meal. Then, incredibly, the squirrel climbed up the man's chest and sat on his shoulder. The man's face lit up with joy. He spoke not a word, remaining calm and peaceful. There was a time when I would have judged that man's eccentricity: a cross-dresser who befriends squirrels. Yet these days I appreciate such gentleness. As the sky faded into a soft lavender, I thought, "He's doing what's right for him, and I'm doing what's right for me."

Cliffs of Insanity

A snowstorm blew threw NYC all day yesterday. It left crusts of ice covering everything. Daggers of icicyles dripped dangerously from the rooftops. This afternoon I walked to the Cloisters by way of the Linden Terrace. The wind whipped off the river and quickened my pace. I slowed near the low stone wall that looks out over the Hudson onto the view of Englewood Cliffs jutting precipitously to the Hudson. There in the crusted ice on top of the wall someone had written "Cliffs of Insanity". I laughed out loud even though I was alone. With the wind biting into my bones and the overhead clouds turning the sky gray and forboding, the cliffs truly looked insane.

Winter for Real

Winter has taken up shop in NYC. People have become introverted and reclusive, locking themselves away from the cold and each other. It was a few minutes past five, but already pitch black when I went running tonight. I dressed up in those special high-tech clothes that are supposed to wick away cold, but really just cost a lot of money and make you smell funny. Most of the leaves have fallen off the trees now. I swished my feet through thick puddles of them and felt like a kid. Standing on the Linden Terrace, the view of the Hudson opened up more widely in front of me. Most of the trees have turned into skeletons. But the George Washington Bridge has come alive. It winked at me with its outline of twinkling lights. I was alone and it could have been midnight.