Spring Has Sprung

This post is for those who have never been to New York and think that it must be a dirty, ugly city. I have news for you. It’s not. New York is beautiful in all its seasons, and Spring is exceptional.



This is a wonderful time in the city because the weather is perfect, perhaps in the way that only a Pisces could appreciate it because it’s the season of our birth– wind, rain, sun, clouds, warmth (snow, even). To me, it is much like a Monet painting - extremely colorful, but nothing exacting. The flowers and trees are at their prime, looking very sexy to the birds and the bees, no doubt. I’ve spent the last few days photographing it just so I can prove you wrong – and this is only what I’ve managed to capture in my small world; walking to work, music lessons, and a rainy day in Central Park on my day off. You should know that I ruined a perfectly good pair of white pants to get these photos for you.



These pots of color are in front of the building where I work on Third Avenue. Such pots exist everywhere in the city. Amid noise and people they stick up like flags saying, Don’t Forget To Keep It All In Perspective!!!

Meridian of Park Avenue

West Nineteenth Street

Central Park South

Central Park has a magic all its own. It’s so large that you can get lost in your thoughts, forget where you are, lose track of time. The sounds of traffic disappear. This time of year, blossoms fall like snowflakes and it makes me mad that that I’m not able to capture them with my camera. Maybe falling blossoms is one of those magic things that are so sacred, they defy capture of any kind.

A Blossom Mess

The park is full of fairies that come out to play when no one is looking. This time of year they are sleeping in the folds of tulips, playing hide-and-seek in daffodils, learning new songs from the small birds. I did see one floating on a pink pedal but didn’t want to disturb.












Spring
Again, the violet bows to the lily.
Again, the rose is tearing off her gown!

The green ones have come from the other world,
tipsy like the breeze up to some new foolishness.

Again, near the top of the mountain
the anemone’s sweet features appear.

The hyacinth speaks formally to the jasmine,
“Peace be with you.” “And peace to you, lad!
Come walk with me in this meadow.”

Again, there are Sufis everywhere!

The bud is shy, but the wind removes
her veil suddenly, “My friend!”

The Friend is here like water in the stream,
like a lotus on the water.

The narcissus winks at the wisteria,
“Whenever you say.”

And the clove to the willow, “You are the one
I hope for.” The willow replies, “Consider
these chambers of mine yours. Welcome!”

The apple, “Orange, why the frown?”
“So that those who mean harm
will not see my beauty.”

The ringdove comes asking “Where,
where is the Friend?”

With one note the nightingale
indicates the rose.

Again, the season of Spring has come
and a spring-source rises under everything,
a moon sliding from the shadows.

Many things must be left unsaid, because it’s late,
but whatever conversation we haven’t had
tonight, we’ll have tomorrow.

- Rumi