Saturday, March 21st, 2020
Today was the second morning in a row I heard crows fly by my inner-city windows. I have long thought it would be good to speak, or at least understand “crow.”
Early yesterday morning, I could hear foghorns. Am I noticing more sounds because the city is so much quieter, or is something fundamentally different? The atmosphere in the city is unlike anything I have ever seen here, even in the tense days of rising water, loss of electricity, or terrorist attacks.
Yesterday, was in the 70s; today, my hands were raw with cold by the time I had delivered freshly-cut plum branches to my mother. I handed the bound bunch to her doorman, then took the opportunity to ride the Central Park loop on my bike—the first time I’d gone all the way around it in several years. Runners and walkers were everywhere. Unlike in the rest of the city, it felt like normal times in the park.
It is not business as usual. For the first time in my adult life, the politicians are not suggesting that their people go shopping. They—most of them, anyway—are telling us to stay home. New territory.
This entry is also a part of Delayering.