Although ol’ man Winter tarried in the night (and night after night, week after week, it seemed), Spring came this morning.
(Forgive the bastardization of both a Biblical verse and an old Paul Robeson classic.)
The City was alive today. If I did not ride the subways everyday, I might be astonished at all of the people who live in this City, who flooded Central Park today.
Flowers are budding. Boom-boxes on full volume. Sheep’s Meadow a sea of people. The promenades alive with children and parents, tourists and citizens. A veritable celebration of, unquestionably, the first spectacular, sunny and warm day of 2015.
My sister and I walked through the Park, marveling at the City come alive again.
We wondered at warmth and flowers. And their restorative effects on the soul. A chance to grow with the flowers — maybe this year, to grow straighter or maybe lilt to a side, but whichever, maybe a little bit happier.
New bursts of energy to last until the lazy days of the long, hot summer.
Resolutions of healthy habits that will be dashed with tonight’s pain of that ill-conceived run or bike ride.
The true rites of Spring. Rebirth and renewal. And, best of all , ecumenical.