A Farewell to New York Spring

The past few days have been humid and sweaty in New York City and I can feel spring slowly slipping away from us. A few weeks ago, I attempted to write an ode to spring while the first arrests of the protests on campus started happening in the middle of my writing. And reading back through this, I’m reminded that sometimes we just write to remember the wonderful and the difficult.

What are some things you write simply to remember?

Here’s what I’m now calling A Farwell to New York Spring:

Last night I walked home from a friend’s house in a light jacket.

Grateful to not feel the cold in my bones.

As a Southerner, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to describe how long the wait for warmth feels in New York City.

I passed by a movie set on my way home. I’ll never tire of seeing sets on these city streets late at night and early in the morning.

Then walked by a packed out jazz club with red velvet curtains and low sexy lights.

Patrons sipping their cocktails as a saxophonist performed his solo.

I’ve always wanted to go there but it’s close to $200 for two people and I’m happy to just walk by every now and then to glance through the window and smile.

This morning, the cherry blossoms are dropping their petals.

The locals in the neighborhood are angry that photographers have been shaking the blossoms so the petals will fall as they photograph their subjects.

The rain comes often these days and there are strange warm foggy days that completely wipe away the skyscrapers, a glimpse at what this land looked like before they were errected.

Today, I’m sitting at the library, watching a Palestinian Protest.

Students are being arrested.

The library onlookers are all standing and sitting in the window nooks watching. I’m surrounded by a mixture of emotions and responses. Some are mourning the university’s decision to suspend and arrest. Some are cheering, gleefully taking selfies with the protesters in the background, preparing for their own counter protest later. Some watch and feel a sense of heaviness.

We all watch and wait together.