Longing for spring
Yesterday, it was December. It was another year. Glamour and glitter filled our early darkness with the promise of festivities and the huge twinkling tree in Rockefeller Center dominated skaters twirling on the ice below.
This week, the gorgeous snake I had spotted wrapping sparkle around the Bulgari storefront on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh street is still making me catch my breath in delight as I hurry past, but how can it be that the calendar is spilling into February next week? Where did January go?
We have not had our major winter snowstorm yet, the one that makes people slip and slide on black ice hidden under the slush of neglected pavements and swear that they don't know why they live here, in this teeming Northern city with its thrum of constant energy, its terrifying highs and lows, its captivating diversity and challenging architecture. The city has been chilling down into the worst freeze in seventeen years, and my head is spinning cabin fever, guilty to be warm when so many have been deprived of their homes by Hurricane Sandy. I have lost moorings, drifting in the grim glaze of winter days, longing for spring. Friends have fled to Florida where sun and sea await them. They are just a phone call away, but it feels like the distance to stars the grey skies hide from me.
Yesterday has vanished, and tomorrow is almost here. As long as there is tomorrow, there is life, and as long as there is life, there is hope, lifting the heart.
And did I really notice tiny buds breaking through the dry skin of branches on city trees?
Spring?
Soon.
This week, the gorgeous snake I had spotted wrapping sparkle around the Bulgari storefront on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh street is still making me catch my breath in delight as I hurry past, but how can it be that the calendar is spilling into February next week? Where did January go?
We have not had our major winter snowstorm yet, the one that makes people slip and slide on black ice hidden under the slush of neglected pavements and swear that they don't know why they live here, in this teeming Northern city with its thrum of constant energy, its terrifying highs and lows, its captivating diversity and challenging architecture. The city has been chilling down into the worst freeze in seventeen years, and my head is spinning cabin fever, guilty to be warm when so many have been deprived of their homes by Hurricane Sandy. I have lost moorings, drifting in the grim glaze of winter days, longing for spring. Friends have fled to Florida where sun and sea await them. They are just a phone call away, but it feels like the distance to stars the grey skies hide from me.
Yesterday has vanished, and tomorrow is almost here. As long as there is tomorrow, there is life, and as long as there is life, there is hope, lifting the heart.
And did I really notice tiny buds breaking through the dry skin of branches on city trees?
Spring?
Soon.