It was early spring, and spring was late.
The Hudson Highlands State Park is a mere hour north of Harlem by train, the station being a couple of blocks from home. There are – albeit very few – advantages to living here.
It was obvious the minute we arrived and began our walk through the very small town of Cold Spring towards the trails that we were much too early for vegetation to have awaken. While New York City was displaying shy blooms, the Hudson Valley was still fast asleep.
But the view from the top of the steep Washburn trail was still worth the climb. Across the Hudson, West Point was going about its Sunday activities and we saw a distant parachutist land on green lawn, dropped by a plane or chopper we had not even detected.
We came home empty-handed but drained of much of the urban poison which unavoidably starts flowing through the veins of city dwellers.