Yet @intueri is convincing me to head out to Central Park in the snow wit h [sic] the Canon 50D.

So wrote Joshua today in response to my recent tweets reflecting my wonderment about snow and its effects on Central Park. To be clear, I suspect that my comments were influencing him to visit Central Park, period, with or without a camera. (Or maybe not. I’m not completely sure.)

I ran five miles around Central Park this morning. A race was ongoing at the time and while these runners were zipping past, flinging dirty snow and mud onto the backs of their legs, The Beau and I trotted along, breathing in the cold air and admiring the snow-covered trees, lawns, and architecture.

I had been making similar remarks to anyone who would listen over the past twenty-four hours:

• “This is amazing!”
• “This is gorgeous!”
• “Look at the way the snow softens the lines of the trees/ironwork/steps/buildings/whatever!”

As we approached Columbus Circle, I noted that the thermometer atop the CNN building indicated that it was 23 degrees at the time of our run.

“Look at that!” I exclaimed. That’s the coldest temperature I have run in to date.

Though the roads were coated with dark slush, the park itself was carpeted, for the most part, with untouched and unblemished white show. The trees, having lost their apparel of leaves a few weeks ago, were dusted with soft, white crystals. The small details of the carved bridges and shapes of the statues that I had previously overlooked now captured my attention, as the white snow highlighted them.

The Lake in Central Park, always a visual treat, looked astounding. The water itself was a pewter grey and restless; some portions of it had frozen over and captured the ripples in time. The surrounding banks were gleaming with untouched snow. There is a small shed-like structure along the West side of the Lake; its roof had a frosting of snow and added a understated idyllic touch to the scene.

I noticed all of this, I think, because of my new acquaintance with this form of precipitation. Though most people in New York find the deep, sloshy puddles at intersections annoying, I find them amusing. Making snowballs may seem like a waste of time to them; I find it interesting. Yellow snow is nothing new; I am amazed with how yellow the snow gets. People get annoyed with having to dig their cars out; I am deeply grateful to God/universe/whatever deity that I don’t have a car and am free of that obligation.

I spent the afternoon with a good friend who is originally from Philadelphia. I continued my rambling commentary about this whole snow thing. He finally looked at me and said, “You know, I am only now fully appreciating that you are not from the East Coast. This is snow. This is what happens. And you clearly are not used to it.”

“I know!” I exclaimed (I really have been doing a lot of exclaiming.) The novelty will certainly wear off at some point, though I hope this sense of wonder never disappears completely.