KristyWes

Frigiderriere

Central Park on Sunday

It was COLD in the city this weekend.  

I suppose I don't have license to complain about the cold, though, as I've already complained far too much about the heat.  So - don't take that as a complaint.  Take it as a statement of fact.  It was COLD.  That's all.

I walked across the park on Sunday afternoon, heading home from Scrabble before heading out again to church.  The park was relatively empty.  Not entirely empty (very few places in the city ever are) but empty relative to its normal weekend busyness.  There were some requisite joggers at the Reservoir, some dogs with their owners and, of course, me.  But few others.

I passed the now-abandoned tennis courts, crunched over what-used-to-be-grass, looked up at naked trees. A couple of them had retained their leaves, but the leaves were mud-brown and appeared frozen.  When the wind blew through them, it sounded like paper rustling or ghosts hissing; there was hardly any movement. 

I felt lucky to live so close, to be able to watch the park cycle through the seasons.  Even in her tundra-like state on Sunday, she was a very pretty park.

*  *  *

Later that evening, in a drafty old church building downtown, the pastor paused mid-sermon.  "I'm sorry for speaking so fast," he apologized, "But I am freezing."

Just stating the facts.