Every moment is several moments. The first was the moment of anticipation. I could already picture myself in the Park. The next moment was actually being there, watching the emerging daffodils shouldering their way through the scattered white of melting snow. And now, the moment is lived again, jostled and nudged to the surface at the tip of a paintbrush - the light, the melting snow, the humble strength of emergence. I love New York, Central Park, and the exuberance and vitality of both. And I am happy that I will always have that day.