On a spring afternoon in New York that felt like the
chilly days of winter, I was in the spirit of walking down the streets. A
breeze was up. The air was bracing. Fast moving strangers around me walked with
the sense that they owned the ground on which they were walking. I felt like a
foreigner. I felt lonely.
But it was lonely only for a few minutes or so until
a glimpse of the colorful flowers and a little bird picking up crumbs from the
street stopped me on my way. And as I walked on again I was no longer lonely. I
was a spring flower hunter. I found myself exploring flowers on the streets
with an intensity that didn't leave any room for the loneliness.
There was something gorgeous about these colonies of
tulips and pansies on the dusty streets with garbage bags here and there. They
added the unexpected delicacy to the rhythm of busy city life.
With the sunshine and the bursts of flowers I had
that intimate conviction that my life was beginning over again with the promise of spring in Manhattan. I never thought New York could be mine, but now
I do.
