Photo Credit — AleXander Hirka / Used with permission / Riverside Park — NYC

Five April, Twenty Twenty-One

The air has changed. I can smell it. However, the winter-weary trees with their tangles of branches just beginning to show the first buds still give the impression of gothic doom and death. It’s all theater. Deep inside those gnarled trunks, under the protective armor of bark, water is coursing up into the tips of the smallest twigs and sap has begun to loosen and flow.