Waking Up

Today, New York is coming out of its shell.

People and squirrels alike have emerged from their dens, and chase one another--or perhaps a frisbee--across what passes for grass in the wake of a frigid March. Washington Square Park, where a few short months ago my date and I were alone in the snow, is now filled with people enjoying the opportunity to sit outside for longer than a few minutes without turning into a human popsicle. NYU students attempt to play catch while musicians trill away in every corner. Drums, violins, saxophones, cacophonous as their clashing melodies weave between the trunks of still-barren trees, but joyful in the message their presence portends.

Spring is coming. New York is waking up.

In another month, when the jackets come off, it will be nigh impossible to find a seat, but today, as the first hint of Spring whispers on the still chilly air, one can find a space to sit and watch, enjoying the sweet sense of beginning, the anticipation of what's to come.

For the past month I've done little more than complain, relentlessly, about all of the difficulties embroiled in my recent move. But on days like today, I remember why I bother. Why, in the end, it's all worth it.

It's worth it to be here, for this. To feel the muted excitement that sizzles through the air, bouncing from sidewalk to sky like a supersonic superball as New York cautiously slides open her windows and smiles.

Spring is almost here.