We are walking the streets of New York on a winter Sunday morning after a late night of dinner and dancing. We are walking Church Street from our little sliver of a hotel, just opened a month, The Duane Street. The sky is gray, threatening snow or rain, but the air is comfortable. Not too brisk, and not too warm for our coats and thick scarves. In Tribeca, the streets are narrow and the neighborhoods still turning from toward chic. The buildings tower above us and these tight, warren-like streets of old New York. We stumble across the beauty of a little park with its elegant trees and clipped box, its green benches. An oasis in a particularly urban pocket. We marvel at the thick branches of the trees that make a strong canopy over the small park, the elegance of the proportions, the siren song of that green bench that beckons for us to sit for awhile.
--Deirdre
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