The snow in New York falls gracefully like (legendary French actress) Catherine Deneuve strolling a Parisian sidewalk. It beautifies the grittiest sidewalk and gives birth to snowmen. Many of them, resemble Frosty the snowman’s hip West Village cousin.
In films, New York snow is a truly dazzling experience. What directors from Woody Allen to virtually any indie filmmaker don’t show is the aftermath. While walking down lower Fifth Avenue after a blizzard, the sidewalks turned into mini canyon of melting snow with rivers of ice. “Oy, why did I decide to take a morning stroll?”
Soon, walking Fifth Avenue turned more into an obstacle course. The goal was to make into Washington Square Park without slipping or damaging my shoes in the ice-y waters. As I galloped down, my shoes looked like Jackson Pollack splashed white out and made a great painting out of my walking instruments. I prevailed, walking past the many blocks, dodging the slow walkers and their beloved puppies.
As I reached Washington Square Park, my mission was accomplished. The park was covered in powdery and charming snow. I didn’t have to worry about the miniature cliffs made of icicles. My shoes were dirty, but it’s always cool to be gritty in the Village.
My victory led to me walking more. Even in the midst of possibly falling and unstable terrain, staying in my apartment didn’t seem as exciting as people watching on the Lower East Side or enjoying the glitz of Park Avenue South.