There is something about a clear fall morning that is beyond description; I marveled at the clarity and brightness walking into work this morning. As I reflected on the beauty eminent on these crisp fall days in New York City, I realized that my time here is limited. I will be spending days in San Francisco and Dallas through the rest of the year, and New York City will no longer be my home. I will miss its lyrical qualities, the smells good and bad, the languages that dance in the air three and four at a time courtesy of the street vendors and financiers. I will miss its vitality, however imperfect and rough-hewn it can be. I will miss its intriguing companionship, the rumbling of the subway trains, and the people, oh those people shepherded from the corners of the earth that somehow make their way here. Somehow, New York City collects them all, sprinkles them amidst the boroughs, and goads them along to keep pace to the rhythms of ambition.
So, I let the moment go; my mind wandered into the branches of the canopy trees overhanging Madison Square Park. I walked past the shining statue of William H. Seward on the corner of 23rd and Fifth Avenue; his countenance was basking in the clear sunlight, contrasted by a wide blue sky. I walked past the Southern Fountain and traipsed along the octagon tiles on the ground that sparkled at different steps thanks to the filtered sunlight. I smiled and appreciated the crisp fall days that would soon pass as well, and my last days in New York City.