I wake in the middle of the night knowing something in the air has changed. The neighborhood has reached a silence that can only mean one thing. I wait for it in the dark with nothing but the sound of my own breath, and finally…there. There it is.
Another season quietly arrives in the predawn hours on the tail of the setting moon, and I can no longer sleep. Alert with anticipation, I stare into the shadows.
Hello old friend.
It’s been six months since Covid first made headlines as it began its sweep through New York City. Six months since the endless scream of sirens racing up and down our streets forever changed our understanding of fear and faith. Six months since we were first truly awoken, as a collective, to the reality of what it means and should mean to be alive.
Guys. SEASONAL AFFECTIVE DISORDER IS LEGIT! I love winter, but this year is just out of control! Here in NYC, we have seen an unusually warm and rainy season. On the days when it is cold, it’s just that – cold! Where’s the snow? If I’m going to risk freezing to death, at least throw in some incentive for me to walk about smothered in blanket-sized scarves and thick-as-sheep sweaters.