Early Spring in New York

The cusp of spring is one of the most indecisive times of the year, especially up north. Last week’s blizzard has left its traces everywhere. Patches of snow cover sections here and there, like sloppily made quilt. The snow in the streets is covered in a sheen of grime and the puddles that it melts into are murky, but if you take the time to look hard enough, you will see crisp patches that lay undisturbed by man or animal. White and crystalline; fresh as a new beginning.
My favorites are the ones that trim tree roots or crowd around early bloomers – an accurate image of the duality of endings and beginnings the likes of which I won’t see back home. A mirror image of my mind and my heart.
The memory of heartbreak makes occasional reappearances, but the promise of something adventurous with myself is taking precedence. In the words of a good friend, most days, I’m mostly at peace with everything that has happened. Which means that “completely,” just like spring, can’t be too far away.


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