Late afternoon, late in the season. Or is it a prelude to evening, and a new season?
A ride to Randall’s Island after work, after lunch, after everything else brought me to the brink—of changes.
I went for a ride in spite of (OK, you know me well enough to know that I might’ve ridden because of) high wind warnings. Gusts blew at my face, sides and back, depending on which way I rode. But once I got to the Island—with some of the largest expanses of open space in the city—it seemed there was nothing but wind.
The temperature was around 10C (50F): not unusual for this time of year. But the inescapable gusts could make it seem that winter would never end.
Or are they what ushers in the Spring?
Is this bare tree a reminder that winter is still with us? Or do its bare branches reveal a sky that’s brightening?
And is the mud around its roots a graveyard of bones and melted snow? Or is it a cradle for irises, purple asters and hyacinths?
Ah, the riddles of a late day ride, late in the winter—or a ride at the precipice of twilight, and a new season!
