Outside it was raining, the skies were gray and the wind was blowing hard.
Umbrellas were problematic on Broadway, which acts as a something of a wind tunnel.
Almost all of the snow had melted, leaving deep puddles in the tree pits. I wondered who decided to replace one of the Belgian blocks with that shitty beige brick. Life isn’t always easy for the street trees in Washington Heights, that’s for sure.
But looking up, I could not deny a certain stark beauty to be found in the contrast between the bare trees and the decrepit pre-war buildings.
At the house, I admired a patch of moss that had colonized a crack in the side of the front stoop.
A fern seemed determined to outlast the snow.
Unlike me, the garden seemed very happy with the cool weather and heavy rain.
Except for maybe the bamboo, several of which had been snapped in half by the wind.
The moss-covered brick path seemed to wind into infinity.
The Hinoki Cypress shook in the relentless wind.
The red azalea also seemed happy to emerge from the snow, in which it had been completely covered for the past week.
As did the sedum.
Over the years in the garden, I’ve noticed (and I’m sure this won’t be news to other gardeners) that snow, no matter how deep, rarely seems to bother the plants. Ice, by contrast, is far more problematic.
‘Goodbye snow, see u next time.’
–a lil fern
