Interlude
Many people have the misconception that New Yorkers live in grand spaces with high ceilings, expansive views of the twinkling city, and open penthouse terraces. Yes, some one percent-ers have all that and then some, but the majority of us without trust funds or seven-figure salaries do not. We cram ourselves into small, dark apartments in whatever affordable area our salaries can accommodate.
That is why, when the sun fills my living room for roughly, about twenty-two minutes every late afternoon, if I'm lucky enough to be around when it happens, my heart stops. Six days out of the week I'm working at this hour; I rarely have the chance to see something so natural as the sun coming through my window. In fact, if Pablo hadn't been on the table a mere foot away when I walked into this sun-soaked room yesterday, I wouldn't have even bothered with this photo because it would have taken up too much of my precious sun time.
I wish the front door to my apartment would open to the beauty of this spirited city and the back door to the warmth of the calming sea. Until then, I'll enjoy small glimmers of each every chance I get.
That is some magical afternoon light. Enjoy it when you can.
ReplyDeleteWhen I grow up, I think I'd like a sun room. With comfy chairs. And cashmere throws. And a ficus tree. Maybe two. A basket full of short stories and other reads. Floor-to-ceiling windows to let in as much sun as possible. I would absolutely live for winter afternoons in there.
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