Brunch at the Park.

I don't understand why this place 'doesnt get mobbed for brunch at the weekend although that's part of the reason I keep going back there, no waiting in line and a nice choice of table. In the depths of winter on a particularly cold day however the Park is plain uplifting. High ceilings in a space filled with natural light, open doors to an enclosed garden, giant clumps of bamboo growing into skylights and good food.

Winter Red

Temperatures are down there right now so this scene in the East Village of warm reds and brick terracotta shades made me stop and take another look. I always love to see the shadows of trees or plants on buildings, it seems to charge them with a sort of living organic energy that breaks all the geometric man made shapes and lines. Here, even the different planes of branches, shadows, grafitti, red canopy seem intertwined.

A Rose is a Rose is a Rose.

If only. On my way to meet a friend for lunch in Williamsburg the other day I stopped to ponder the dried shrivelled blooms of this rose. Its bare thorny stems almost the identical shade of color of the equally grim chain link fence that supported it, stark against a cold clear winter sky. The only reason I did, is because I had stopped in my tracks in the exact same spot this past summer to admire this. A wish sprang into my head, too early I know, for this other, very different rose to return soon.