beauty

Spring arrived in New York City three days ago. The cherry trees and ornamental pear trees are blooming along my street, and in the small areas where there is grass, there is the sheen of new, dark emarald blades. The earth opens up. The harsh cold breezes on the avenues have warmed, and the city is alive in the calm of cool, warm temps. Last night, sitting next to an open window, I could hear the voices of people chatting in the park-like campus across the street, their friendly patter a comfort as the sounds rolled into the apartment along with the slight breath of spring wind.

This was the weekend that I felt like I lived here. I went to a physical therapist appointment early Friday evening and had a doctor's appointment and got a prescription filled on Saturday. Odd that this would make me feel more like I live here, but banal chores means I must get on with living here, and that it is not hard, just different than the easy life of Indianapolis.

I suppose that it is not cool, but I look up at tall buildings. Not the tall shining glass towers, but the mid and early 20th century buildings. I like to look at architectural details, and particularly I like to look at the light and shadows of the edges of building and sky.

Someone reminded me that it has been a month since I moved here. We are cramped in our tiny apartment -- knocking things over is part of the routine -- but we have a place to sleep in a city that has made it almost impossible for people who are not extraodinary wealthy to find places to live.

Franklin the dog has settled in. He still hates the trucks and buses on the short stretch of 10th Avenue that we must endure before we are back on a tree-lined side street, and I must concentrate on keeping him from responding to big dogs who come too close == we do the "tsk,tsk" routine suggested by the dog-whisperer -- but he enjoys the increased social interaction of people oohing and awing over him.

His favorite spot in the apartment appears to be his crate, where he retreats for his naps.