Spring will happen at 11:49. Looking out the window, I spy an empty bus on Central Park West. A group of young people hugging and taking selfiies, oblivious to social distancing. But. They are the only ones on the sidewalk. A random car or cab appears on the vacant street. Kids are crying below as parents work to find a happy activity on our abandoned block. And. We are only in early days. But. Hey. It’s going to be 70 degrees and the blooms are still popping in the Park.
Perfect read for this mindset:
A Gentleman in Moscow, Amor Towles.
Perfect painting. They can’t cancel Spring. David Hockney: