Saving Grace of the "Island" Day

Today was what I've termed an "Island" day - a single, isolated day of hot and glorious sunshine amid a sea of a torturous winter. These Island days are tricky. They trick us into believing summer is here. We've been in New York this time of year before, some of us for decades on end, and we know those cafe doors don't stay propped open until at least May and that seasonal patterns that have been in existence for millennia don't suddenly change to accommodate the pleas of a Cabin-Fever-afflicted population. But still, somehow, we believe the impossible. Summer is here.

This belief is evident on the face of every New Yorker. In place of the usual frustration, apathy, and preoccupation, there is the familiar shape of bowed lips and a lightness to the step. Most interestingly, when we discover summer to be here unexpectedly, we suddenly notice one another. Each stranger is a soul with whom to share the ecstasy overtaking us in the presence of the sun.

On these Island days, it's impossible to be annoyed, and it's impossible not to smile. The little yippie dog on the sidewalk that was so annoying yesterday is now the cutest ball of wiry fur I've ever seen. The woman on the subway whose elbow is inserted into my armpit is today my partner in a laughable predicament.

The breaths that used to fill my lungs with an icy sting suddenly shoot energy to my toes, and spreading my arms in the wind, I forget momentarily that they aren't wings.

Tomorrow we may be cast again into the sea of winter and reminded that our will is not powerful enough to altar the rhythms of the universe. However, in the precious hours we all spend believing otherwise, we are graced with hope and given just enough energy to survive until that time.