NYC in the Springtime: A Retrospective II (This is where fashion lives.)

My hotel was less than a block away from Bryant Park. And my trip to New York was less than a month too late. Fashion week had come and gone. 

Still, there's a spirit of beauty that grows in the trees of Bryant Park, growing tall over the empty spots where the tents sat. Even the pigeons walk proud - heads up, shoulders back, wings wishing for sequins and silks. I wonder about the initials carved into the weathered chairs and scribed into the wet cement. Whose painted eyes have read them, whose heeled shoes have grazed them?

The clothes we wear were born here. Every sweater, every skirt, every pair of perfectly fitted trousers - it's the art we live our lives in.