The White Box

I was late, I was exhausted, I walked right past it. I needed to be working, I needed to eat dinner, I needed so many things that were not what I was doing.

But spring is back, and my resistance crumbles quickly. So I went to the opening at the hole in the wall on Broome and tripped along the Lower East Side streets to dinner and drinks and silly giggles until work was further from my mind than a Mad Hatter. On my way home, my high heels kept the beat to the music in my ears; I knew I looked too happy for these cynical streets, and I didn't care.

Perhaps I'll pay for it tomorrow when the deadline bites at my heels. But it turns out that there is more to life than deadlines.

And Central park in a carpet of croci and snowdrops is magic.

There's no competing with that.