It got up to a respectable 60° F this past Sunday, but for most of the day it was colder–and windy–making it feel down right chilly. If you were to take a stroll through Central Park, you’d think it was the middle of summer. Everyone was out. The city was a picturesque tableau of the pleasures of urban life. People were picnicing, playing baseball, and sunbathing as though they were in balmy San Diego. If you looked really closely, you could see goosebumps on their bare arms, and if you listened, the sound of teeth chattering.
And who can blame them? We’re desperate here. We’re like a people emerging from a millennia-long ice age. We’ll sit out side if temps reach past 50 and bare our legs if they climb above 55. We know it’s all so fleeting, that before we know it, summer will have passed us by, and then once again, the descent into the big freeze.