First day of spring

By mid-afternoon, after hours of crafting and deleting sentences at the computer, my brain is stale and flat as yesterday’s club soda. Even my characters, struggling through the dramas of 1936 in Paris, are begging for a break.

Time for a walk in nature.

My Yosemite, my Niagra Falls, my Amazon River, is Central Park. If I squint, those towering skyscrapers on the horizon melt into snowclad Alps. Close my ears to dogs, children ,and jazz saxaphonists and I’m alone in the wilderness. Ignore warning signs to keep off the lawn and I’m an explorer boldly striking out across virgin territory, muddying my boots to examine a cherry tree in bud.

Yesterday though, there was no need to block out the city. Everywhere, people shed coats and hats and looked up, dazzled, into the pale sunshine. First day of spring. Even in New York, you can feel it.