A Sunday in Spring

The one thing I appreciate most about being in Manhattan is being surrounded by Hudson and the East Rivers. On a mild day as today, first Sunday of Spring, I found myself by the riverfront. I don't know why I am constantly drawn to the water. I can sit on a bench on the Battery Park City and just stare at the Hudson, contemplating on nothing at all. A blind stare, my friend calls it.

We then walked to the other side of the island, to the South Street Seaport for lunch. I looked outside the glass window of the bistro and watched a juggler/fire-eater/performer entertain the crowd of mostly children. A man on the other corner of the cobblestone piazza played 'Amazing Grace' on his saxophone.



After lunch we wandered further near the edge of the East River, watching the boats and ferries transverse the waterway between downtown Manhattan and Brooklyn. I sat on the wood steps fronting the river and admired the majesty of the Brooklyn Bridge and wondered how much of history it had been witness to being more than a hundred years old. It has seen the first lightbulbs glow in this old city, the race for the sky of modern edifices and the tragic fall of some, it has seen many faces come and go from this place they also call Gotham.

What a paradox New York City is, I realize. That it is an old soul that lives for the future; a city for the old and the young; the dreamer and the broken. A symbol of new beginnings and a magnet to every dreamer from faraway lands. For me and for many, New York is the challenge that with perseverance can be won. Like the song goes, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.



Even the seagulls rejoice about being here. I love New York.