January 28, 2014
It's the kind of big snow that clings like a sloth to a branch, and the trees accommodate the accumulation accordingly. "How pretty we look," they whisper to each other between shivers, "but oh, what a burden on our shoulders!" Everything along Central Park West looks lovely in fluffy white top hats, reflecting sun like sequins. Even the battered green trashcans stand taller in the newfound finery, happy for the democracy afforded by the snow. They puff out their chests like pigeons, gazing with cautious confidence, hoping someone takes notice of their beauty and new dapper costume. And I do.