January 24, 2022

I awake to a quiet world. The courtyard outside my window shows no signs of last night’s snow; when I walked up Eighth Avenue and across west 54th Street, then sat down on a bench at the edge of DeWitt Clinton Park for just long enough to watch the ballfield dance a stillness of falling snow beneath the stadium lights. This morning the sun is saying spring isn’t forever away; whispering that April is out there in the realm of all infinite possibilities.