On Perennial Amnesia in NYC Parks

An ode to the four seasons

Winter || Washington Square Park

Stillness the morning after a blizzard. Downy piles of white, its pristine surface begging to be broken in the early hush. Starkly bare branches reach next to evergreens in their winter ermines.

We’re reduced to children, sinking to our shins and leaving tracks in our wake. For now, the long weight of winter is replaced by the wonder of snow, our city so transformed by ephemeral flecks that fell from the sky. Frozen fingers, chapped cheeks and the sight of our breath go from bad to badges. We stop wondering how long, how severe this one will be, and just play.

Spring || Central Park

A collective sigh of relief and lift of spirits at the imperceptible thaw. Throwing off its peacoats and sidewalk vestibules, the city blooms. The light changes, inexplicably, somewhere between bare feet and the return to iced coffee. Knowing the even-keeled sun and benign breeze are fleeting, we surge to patches of green grass.

We mourn the brevity of spring in New York, but its scarcity is what separates it from other seasons. It’s limited-time milk and honey we’re grateful to enjoy for the time we do have.

Summer || Louis Valentino Jr. Park

Oh, the fickle fiend that is summer in the city. The radiant sun tangos with a puckish humidity—depending on who leads, they bring out the best and worst of New York. Bicycles and crop tops by the river, patio and rooftop meals. The sickly sweet smell of garbage, steadfast stickiness on the sidewalk.

When the heat dampens our foreheads, we swear we’ll never complain about the cold again—forgetting, briefly, the same promise we made in winter. Perennial amnesia is our evolutionary tactic to surviving the extremes.

Fall — Storm King

We sense fall as it arrives. An unfamiliar crisp on the walk to the train. Essence of cinnamon, pumpkins, apples. The slowness of the sun to rise, leaving us snoozing alarms in the early dark. Our fever breaks, and we wake refreshed, pulling in lungfuls of air filtered by foliage. As trees shed the year’s brilliant baggage, we too relish in renewal.

Wrapped in light layers and layers of light, we look forward with hope. We gather and store reserves of our love of New York ahead of winter. We look past the extremes and hold on to the magic of four distinct variations.

Rejoice, forget, and embrace the cycle anew.

Natalie is a New Yorker who is leaving New York. Follow her farewell series, On New York, here on Medium and on Instagram.