In places where the seasons are pronounced,
there is one day a year when the advent of summer is promised in the breeze of a spring day.
The anticipation of languid afternoons at the beach or rooftop BBQs brings everyone outdoors.
Like a ritual, winter is washed away with the abandoned coats left on hooks in entryways.
Skin is exposed to the sun.
In Los Angeles, this day is unrecognizable, lost in subtlety,
but in New York
it is an unofficial celebration.
Luckily, I happened to be in town for this day,
and experienced the joy of spring without enduring the cruelty of winter.
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