Praise then darkness, and creation unfinished

I'm out of practice from sitting at home so much the last few weeks: I probably covered about two miles, counting what I did up here to and from the train, and the soles of my feet were feeling tender before I left Central Park.

I needed to get to my bank anyhow, so I went downtown, did bank stuff (via an ATM), and then wandered around Central Park a bit: up to the Sheep Meadow, where I took my shoes off, walked around on the soft green grass, and read. Then I walked around the lilacs just north of the Sheep Meadow, sniffing as I went. I saw one oddity: a mostly reddish-purple bush with one branch that had white flowers.

From there, I went north a bit, and sat on various benches near the water. Lots of stuff is in bloom: lilacs and flowering cherry, dogwood and azalea and horse chestnut, dogwood, violets and dandelions and wild geraniums and periwinkle, and, oddest of all, a few lingering forsythia blossoms.

Tender feet and all, I'm feeling better for having been out and about.