The Sidewalks of New York Are Paved in Gold
F.E Scanlon

Such a remnant of ancient Christmas past: bedecked in bespoke and bedazzling finery, complete with bubble-gum aquamarine eyeballs, sphinx gaze, refinement of feature, cherubic countenance, and outstretched hands. 
 
Who cast him adrift on a sidewalk of New York? 
Was it you? 
 
He may as well be the crown jewel interloper at a Pandemic Street Séance, for which he has neither a cure nor a hope...merely the bearer of the unmistakable mystique of miraculous mystery of generous genesis. 

Tree of Hope
Liz Garfield

For 42 years I've watched a magnolia tree behind my apartment building blossom exactly on my birthday, marking another year, and the arrival of Spring. This year it finally reached me on the fifth floor, attaining an unusual height for a magnolia tree of 50 feet, straining in its shadowed, confined space towards the sun.

My Lens on the World
Howard Greenstein

The March lockdown changed my routine completely, as it did for so many people. I had gotten used to a long commute, some amount of walking, and an active work environment. The pandemic encouraged staying in at all costs. I was taking this to something of an extreme for a while. The object that turned it around was my camera – a reminder to go out and observe the world. I returned to walking, first around the neighborhood, and then around parks as they opened. I got frustrated with shots not coming out the way I wanted them to, and used online resources to improve my photos. I got curious about techniques, bringing me back outside. The outside world improved my overall outlook, and my photography. I believe this was the silver-halide lining to the pandemic for me.

Six Feet Apart
Roxy Lane

At the beginning of the pandemic, anxieties ran high. We didn't know if we should wear masks, or no masks, gloves or no gloves. Should I take off my shoes when I walk into the house? Wipe down my groceries with illusive Clorox wipes that I bought for 15 times their normal price?

It would have been so easy to be afraid to go out into the world—but my dog doesn't know about COVID-19. Every day, whether it is 9 degrees or 99, snowing, sleeting, or raining, she is my ticket outside.

No matter how much work I have to do, how agoraphobic I'd like to be, or what kind of a mood I am in -- we go for a walk in the morning, again in the afternoon, and again at night.

I can imagine another world where I became sedentary, unsociable, and afraid. Instead, I tethered myself to her bravery with a six-foot leash, and saw a bit of normalcy through her eyes.

Saving Grace, Saving Space
Judith Medez Maldonado

I’d thought I didn’t have much use for Hillman Park anymore, yet the park became my lifeline during the pandemic of 2020.  

In January and February 2020, I was diagnosed with asthma and bronchitis, and not getting better. My hair was falling, my brain felt foggy. Many went to the hospital, but many did not come out, so I stayed home in bed.  

After gaining strength, I wanted out of my apartment. I was drained from crying for those I knew and those I did not, who died from COVID. I donned my clothes and mask, and walked around in Hillman Park. I followed the congregations of birds, marveled at the skies, prayed and sang. I thanked God for my life, and rang a bell at seven o clock to acknowledge New York City’s essential workers.  

Cold gripped NYC in May 2020. The birds stopped accompanying me. Still, I walked, even if it rained or snowed. It was exhilarating to finding the wind whipping my face, breathing in fresh air and seeing sunlight from the outdoors. Walking was therapy to my mind and soul.  

In June 2020, antibodies proved I had survived COVID.  

Now, I hold the Hillman Park dear to me. There, we celebrated my grandson’s 10th birthday, my daughter’s virtual college graduation, and Mom’s 90th birthday. I still walk round and round to exercise and pray. I’ll always treasure this park ,where my healing process began, where calm flooded my soul in the face of uncertainty.