We are on the bare edge of spring. The sun is out, and the sky, if not quite brilliant, is at least blue and nearly clear. The coldness in the air feels a little kinder and less cruel - if not a kiss, still not a slap. Red-green alien shoots have appeared in the flower beds by my stoop, and the birds are singing like mad. It is the season for heavy cotton sweaters.
I am having a hard time staying inside. Yesterday was bitter, but it is back in the 40s today - prime walking weather. On a day like this, I feel like I could step out of my apartment and walk forever - past the usual blocks, past the familiar Duane Reades and fruit stands, beyond the regular boundaries of habit. I could walk from my neighbor river to the stranger ones, or down to the tip of the island, where the ferries live.
This Sunday is a working one for me. That's half the weekend lost, so I think today is the day for rambling. Time to hunt up my walking shoes.