(All photos are by Miranda Lehman)

The walk home after school was always the best in the early spring. The bees and bugs weren't yet a nuisance, the air was just cool enough, and the trees would be flowering. I've always preferred flowering trees to plain flowers. There's something so glorious about a cherry tree in full bloom, not to mention the lush magnolia blooms, the delicate apple tree blossoms, and the ironic Bradford pear (the beautiful buds which smell of ammonia).

New York is the same way. For months now the walks have been tedious, grey, and dirty, but in one weekend green and white have returned, color has been splashed all over the flowerbeds, and my eyes again have something to gaze upon.

When I come home from work, the sky is just light enough to be the richest shade of lapis. The streets are illumined by fluorescent streetlamps which transform the green and white trees of morning into dusky trees of twilight. The boughs are deep and black and the clusters of petals are mauve-tinted and ephemeral.

I walk extra blocks just to see them for longer.

I won't speak to the long silence here, except to say that in a few months I will hopefully be living in a new state, with a new environment and a renewed desire to observe, think, and write.