New Yorkers on the street, busy performing weekend errands, are warmed by the winter sun. Bakery and bookstore windows attract passersby. I am on my way home to listen to the Metropolitan Opera radio broadcast. In this quintessential urban scene on Manhattan's Upper East Side, suddenly I hear the cry of sea gulls. I look up at the blue sky.
Several gulls soar high above the buildings, a reminder that New York is an island city.
A useful reminder for me. When a child, I disputed my sister's assertion that we lived on an island. She attended school by the East River and daily saw tugboats and the Triborough and Queensboro Bridges. But my home and school life centered on Central Park. I saw no rivers, no bridges, no ships, and knew nothing of tides.