The birds are a-twitter, my heart is thumping with Starbucks, little greenish baby buds are starting to peek out of the ends of tree branches, and the outdoor cafes, littered with morning coffee sippers, beckon and wink at me as I lollygag to work.
Crocuses and daffodils are stretching yawning and poking their colorful little heads up to sit happily in the dirt amongst discarded cigarette butts and McDonalds wrappers in the garden of my mean old lady neighbors. (I don't know how such hateful women can produce such botanical wonderment in the middle of Queens, but there you go. Another of life's mysteries. Maybe bitter gall is good fertilizer?)
The streets of New York are alive with the return of the seasonal homeless. Gossiping nannies sit on park benches in Madison Square Park, ignoring their tiny charges, who wander a little too close to the water fountain. Aaaah. Now this is the life.
The air is sweet and pungent with the scents of kettle-cooked nuts and horse excrement. The buildings glitter in the morning sun. I wear my Holly Golightly sunglasses and pull on my lightest, softest, most favorite thrift store coat.