Rites of Spring
I've been in NYC for 5 years. I have found its rhythms. I can now anticipate the stealthy return of spring. First I notice the tulip and daffodil greens rising from the earth, crowned with last year's leaf mulch which they have pushed through in their quest for the sun.
Then I see purple spots of color, almost invisible at first and then dense patches of color –– crocuses.
The daffodils come after that, gaudy in fluorescent yellow. A punch of the season. Once the daffodils come, Spring finally feels inevitable. Soon the tulips, the magnolias are here already, then the evanescent cherry blossoms and finally the return of the city's green canopy.
The will it/won't it coyness of frost and cold nights is ripening to a quickness in the blood. SPRING It's on everyone's lips. Smiles all around. People say "I don't know what it is, but I'm loving the city right now".
It's spring you fools! It's the world coming alive. It's pollen thick in the air and a chorus of sneezes on the subway. It's biking under a blue sky, too cold in shorts you chose as an offering to the season (doesn't all prayer require sacrifice?). It's people sitting at sidewalk tables, their dog's leashes wrapped around the legs. It's the cloud of cherry blossoms floating in your vision 3 blocks down the street. It's the first fresh produce of the season, the tender fiddleheads which at 25 dollars a pound I have never bought, but whose return I mark with a whoop because asparagus will be close behind.
It's your friend's new crush after you've seen them through a winter of stifling parkas and going home early. It's the blessed light, stretching into the evening, somehow eager and less jaded than its autumn counterpart. It's shaking off all your dust and admitting the year has finally begun.
Magnolia Walk at the Botanical Garden
The crocuses appeared in early March and were already gone when I went back this Sunday.