spring in Central Park, 2020

Yesterday, before starting a virtual canasta game, Ellen texts us a picture of Central Park. 

"Have any of you been in the park lately?" she asks. 

Zelia hasn't left her house in weeks, so her answer is no.

Shari A has been in the Hamptons for about a month now, so her answer is also no.

And I've barely been out at all in weeks, so I answer no also. 

But Ellen's picture is enticing. I decide that when our game ends, I will go to the park.

I suit up. Keys. A small bottle of Purell. A mask. And my Nikon. I'm ready.

At any other time I'd look ridiculous. But now I look like everyone else walking around Manhattan. To say wearing a mask is not comfortable would be a huge understatement.

It's brisk out but within a few blocks I'm hot. So hot that my glasses start to fog up, making the mask even more annoying than it already is. But it's not even a choice anymore. Face coverings are now mandatory in New York.

Ellen is right. The park is gorgeous. Slowing down the economy has had a positive effect on the environment. 

Spring has arrived.

But this is a spring like none before it. 

All the playgrounds are closed.

New signs have been added.

And a makeshift hospital has been erected — right in the middle of Central Park.

New York is magnificent.  

But it won't be the city's beauty that will be remembered when recalling the spring of 2020.