Instead of complaining about the rain and the slush, I’m complaining about the influx of tourists.
The men of Brooklyn have begun to roll up the cuffs of their lighter weight skinny cotton chinos, which they’re accessorizing with skimpy cotton cardigans and canvas totes, for an Audrey Hepburn silhouette.
I can now tell which trees are starting to bud and which trees have died.
All of the restaurants have set up their sidewalk cafes, even if it’s still too cold for anyone to use them. I like sidewalk cafes in theory, but in practice I’d always rather sit inside, without getting bus exhaust in my food.
Everyone is looking a tiny bit more hopeful, but it’s been an especially long winter, so we’re all still wary.
I worry that the minute I leave my home without a hat and gloves, it will snow. But at least now the weather forecasters are referring to this sort of event as a “freak” snowstorm.
I’m trying very hard not to think of this next image as a portrait of pollen.
