There's a brief window each year, in between the first warm breeze of spring and the first sticky rush of summer's humidity, when the world is perfect. The stark branches of winer's trees suddenly fill with blossoms, the people on the streets slow their buzzing just long enough to smile at one another, and the sun beams cheer across the land. These are the golden days of New York City.
I'm not sure if I coined "the golden days" or if I heard it somewhere, but each year right around this time, I feel the sun warm my face and a sense of peace and light wash over me. Then I turn to Gaby and say "they're bere, baby- these are the golden days!". Each year they last for only a couple of weeks before morphing back into mother nature's steady four-season rhythm, but those couple of weeks always feel magical. It's that in-between time, when the days are long, and the temperature is perfect, and the city is calm. It's the feeling of wanting to be outside all day long. It's the feeling of wanting to dance down the street. It's the feeling of new beginnings.
This year, the golden days are here now. The city is magnificent. And the only thing to do is to grab your partner in crime, do a jig down the street, share an ice cream cone, and bestow the beauty all around. New York City doesn't get much better than this.
