i don't think new york city is beautiful. some people do. i prefer nature. i prefer flower gardens and ponds and critters running about (so much that street rats don't bother me one bit, though i would trade them in a second for a few deer and a rabbit.) and i prefer willow trees and bird's nests and their morning chirps. i look out my window when i am at work, located a few blocks away from grand central station, and all i see are buildings. no sky, no ground below. just buildings. something that has stayed with me for a while is a line in julia alvarez's book, how the garcia girls lost their accents. i am loosely rephrasing this, but she says that being in new york city is not being inside nor is it being outside. agreed. sometimes it doesn't feel like real life. sometimes i feel as though i am in a painting. concrete and skyscrapers may be gloriously appealing to some. but not to me.
maybe that's the best part of it all. i have to dig a little bit deeper to uncover the extra-ordinary beauty beneath. it is more precious and rare. but when it is there, it's loud and it's merry and it can make me smile long, long after.