A Year In New York

This morning I pulled the shade to see if the forecast foot of snow had arrived. Not quite. But six inches lay on the ground with more pouring from the sky, and I felt the pull of the wild.

In response, I pulled on my fleece jacket and Gore-Tex shell and the snow boots I’d bought for the New York winter that I thought I’d never get the chance to use. I usually head for work in the Manhattan uniform of overcoat and sweater. But fashion be damned – it’s snowing out! I walked from 72nd Street all the way to Union Square on 14th, just to see what happens when March arrives like a lion.

Some noises, like traffic, were muffled by the snow, while others arrived season-fresh, like the sound of doormen scraping the sidewalks with a shovel. The transit buses passed with a clanka-clanka-clanka because of the chains on their tires. A child cried when mom ferried him across a slushy intersection by the armpits. A woman pulled her tired Schnauzer, and when the leash went taut the dog skidded like a sled.

A taxis fishtailed away from the curb, and once it got a grip it sped through the intersection and sprayed brown slush on my jeans.

Spindrift blew off the top of an apartment building and rained on the  Fifth Avenue shoppers, who continued toward Lord & Taylor with flinty determination.

I finished the hike to work and mounted the stairs having had an outdoor adventure. God, I needed that.