One of the things I love about The City is that there is always something new to see, if I only take the time to look. Tonight I went to a screenplay reading at the New School by Marsha Norman (quite famous, it turns out—a Pulitzer and a Tony under her chiffon) and then walking home down 6th Avenue in the cool (that’s right, the cold is abating, the trees bursting forth in petals and leaves) night I noted a young woman with one of those padded guitar case backpacks strapped over her shoulders.
The sight somehow triggered in my mind that I have seen an outbreak of these guitarists lately, guitars strapped to backs. Is this a trend, or is it just the first time I took a moment to not just look, but process, recall, and form memory into concrete meaning? Or perhaps the spring brings out not only soft green shoots, but the outdoor musician in all of us, a whistle or hum; a tapping of feet. For certain the birds are for it, practically chortling with their enthusiastic song. Well, now I’m laughing at myself, at my sentimentality, but really—isn’t spring great?
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