Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? (Sonnet 18)
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
It was June when temperatures in New York are usually warmer and it’s more comfortable wearing shorts and cotton clothes than long pants, a jacket and a scarf. Instead of late spring warmth it felt like winter and I was dressed in a coat I had to purchase for $100 at Levi’s somewhere in Midtown to keep warm. The light-skinned sales girl who sold me the coat had a thick African accent and told me she loved my energy so much she wanted to move to San Francisco where she hoped everyone would be just like me. I smiled and told her that most people in San Francisco were that happy so she would definitely enjoy wonderful San Francisco.
In Central Park the sky was overcast. The weather breezy and cold and foggy as if I was not in New York City at all but back home in cold and fog drenched San Francisco. Bikers on racing bikes peddled fast and steady through winding streets past runners and walkers. Behind a fence I climbed a children’s sliding board like a child and sat at the top and observed the beautiful skyline with the tiptops of its superior towers unseen and covered in fog. Such a beautiful sight to behold.
As I slid down the shiny board I spotted a beautiful blue bird not far away on a rock. I simply had to photograph it.
The bird seemed to know my intensions as I quietly approached and climbed a bedrock carefully not to disturb it. The bird stayed still and long enough for me to photograph it, which made my heart content.
As I stood there, the bird finally studied me curiously. It seemed to thank me, too, before it flew away and disappeared into the quiet green and grey . . .
Central Park Bikers