New York, that bustling, vibrant city, the metropolis of a thousand skyscrapers whose lofty peaks were its eternal pride. Its buildings stretched up toward the sky, piercing the atmosphere as far as the eye could see, stacked like dominoes over streets that seemed so tiny below. New York, the Big Apple, never slept. Cab horns blared all night long, the lights of Rockefeller Plaza lit up the darkness, the neons of Times Square never dimmed, and Broadway shows ran until dawn. The streets filled and emptied in an endless cycle of hot-dog carts, beggars, police patrols, tourists and strangers feeding the birds in Central Park. Central Park was a haven of tranquillity amidst the skyscrapers and infernal agitation of the city.
John and Mary stopped and alighted their bicycles. They took out a map of the park; it was a vast space with several streams running through it. The birds chirped and magpies chatted, as crows swooped menacingly among the cooing pigeons. The birdsong drowned out the distant horns of taxicabs and buses. The trees made the concrete jungle feel far-off. Central Park was a pure thought in a troubled mind. John and Mary worked on Wall Street, at the New York Stock Exchange. There they spoke only of money and net profits. There, they discussed only the riches of oligarchs and titans of industry. Today they sought respite from all that talk. The couple chatted about the animals they could see as they strolled carefree down the pathways of the park. They saw a peacock and observed the squirrels, and spotted a rabbit bolting down into a warren. They savoured these sights, for tomorrow promised to be another trying day. When the heavy curtain of Wall Street opened, they would be plunged straight back into their weekly tribulations. There would be no birdsong to soothe them, only gavel blows to seal fortunes. There would be no animals to amuse them, just men frothing at the mouth as they screamed to sell their shares.
“I wish you could sleep out here,” Mary told her husband.
“I feel like I’m worlds away. I can feel peace, and joy.”
“Me too! Where exactly are we?” replied Mary.
“Let’s check the map.”
“What if we head down here?” suggested Mary.
They pedalled towards the park’s northern end, thankful for this oasis of nature in the midst of the city. The park had planted gardens and natural earthworks, having been almost entirely landscaped during its construction in the 1850s. It had eight lakes and ponds, which were man-made but with natural drainage. Finally there were several sections of woods, lawns, meadows and grasslands, criss-crossed by fifteen miles’ worth of paths and alleyways. Half an hour later, Mary observed the buildings rising over the tree line.
“Don’t tell me the day’s almost over?”
“Back to reality I’m afraid, sweetie.”
Alan Alfredo Geday