Central Park.

A recent moment of nostalgia before it was even over. Rowing on the pond in Central Park. Papa and his girls. Heave-ho (in French). Romy wouldn't let anyone else row.


There is no space to waste anywhere in this city, therefore so much of the space is perfected - exact. I am often stunned at the amount of style that can be packed into a small New York apartment (my brother Stephen’s 400 sq ft in the Village, for instance).

Central Park is the same story. In the greater scheme of open space, the park is just a postage stamp of green in urban New York. Yet, every turn in every trail, every vista, every line of trees, plants, flowerbed has been carefully considered, methodically sown and positioned for the years to come. Each seasonal reappearance. So packed in. Spring is staggering.

I will thoroughly miss the park – a sanctuary. My connection to natural things in metropolis – meditation while commuting.