Most of the year, I wonder why I live in New York City. During summer months, the air weighs down, hot and humid; clothing sticks to skin, garbage piles up fetid in the streets. During winter months, it’s rain, snow, sleet; cold bites numb hands and toes, makes even eardrums ache. And through it all I think, “why did I possibly leave San Francisco?”
But then, for three weeks in the fall, and three weeks again in spring, New York is the most beautiful place in the world. The air is crisp, the city clean, everything full of possibility.
Right now, we’ve hit those three weeks. The afternoon sunlight is golden out my window, autumn leaves just starting to turn. Sadly, I know it won’t last. But while it does, there’s no place I’d rather be. I’m off for a walk.