The First Sunny Sunday

There is a special magic reserved for the first sunny Sunday after a long winter. It spills over the streets as early morning rays stretch their arms across Manhattan.

I opt for the 40 minute walk downtown rather than confining myself to a crowded subway car. Washington Square Park is brimming with defrosting New Yorkers. They shake the dust from their picnic blankets and sink their fingers into the sun-soaked grass. Baristas roll outdoor tables onto the sidewalk, releasing them from months of basement storage. Neighbors wave at one another for the first time since the fall, the 60° weather and cloudless sky an invitation to be friendly.

We start the day at an art café. Soft jazz guides my hand as I paint and sip on Diet Coke from a glass bottle. Light pours in through tall arched windows, bathing the hardwood floors in sunshine.

We wander Chinatown for the rest of the afternoon, intoxicated by the smell of comfort food and springtime. Strangers sit side-by-side at long tables, slurping on noodles and wonton soup. We join them, squeezing onto an empty bench to order steaming platters of fried dumplings and lo mein.

The streets are abuzz. We ramble until the sun sets, searching for pastries and giggling inexplicably, giddy on the magic of a perfect sunny Sunday.