Dear New York,
It’s been six days since I left you. The air is clean and cool here and the greenery is wild. Birds and an occasional lawn mower or airplane overhead provide the only outdoor music. I miss the constant humming of traffic along Broadway, and the sounds of the trains rolling up and down the tracks.
The sun seems closer and brighter, yet not as hot as yours. The evenings here are chilly and I can’t seem to find warmth. I miss my cozy apartment on your Upper West Side, which rarely requires heat, even in the dead of winter. Here I sit in a huge sweatshirt in the sun, and I’m barely warm. I’ve never worn a sweatshirt inside any building in your town.
I can’t help thinking about what I’m missing. But I tell myself that it will all be there in July when I return. I hope nothing much has changed about you until then. Who am I kidding? You are never the same two days in a row. You are ever-changing, which is one of the things that I love most about you.
Almost one week down, yet four to go. I’m trying to savor each moment here, but I can’t help thinking of you now and again.
Until July, it’s sun, sand and life in a rustic cottage, which I love. But I happen to love you more. The majestic you, the manic you, the diverse, creative, hipster, and foodie you. The unpredictable but always thrilling, never dull, constantly inspiring New York.
|Chrysler Building Photo courtesy of Flickr|