When, finally, after months of hibernation, snow, ice and dark torment, winter recedes and reluctantly yields control of the city to a pale spring, it’s as if nature’s many rhythms suddenly charged forward like runaway horses. Central Park becomes a fast-changing kaleidoscope of colors and scents, and the only way to witness the entire play would be to live in the woods and be there every day.
Sadly, those who do probably don’t get to appreciate it. They have different priorities. Shame.