I've really been appreciating the benefit of being outdoors lately. Often, during my precious lunch hour, I'll scurry as quickly as I can down to the East River to get a glimpse of the shifting water, the free-wheeling boats in pursuit of the sea, and the trees all leafed-out along the promenade. But recently, I've been drawn to the bits of grass that are not-quite-as-far as the water. (This is New York; it is nothing, if not about convenience.)
The grass I like best is a tiny little strip; not necessarily manufactured for human lounging, but just big enough to accommodate a cross-legged girl who wants to kick her shoes off. It's littered with leaves and weeds and tiny ants, but that's sort of the way I like it. There's something about setting your feet on the ground and letting them get all green and grass-imprinted that does an office-computer-weary heart a world of good.
