I love being outside. I love the feel of grass beneath my feet, sand between my toes. I love the bugs that land on the pages of my books and the sound of birds calling...
Despite the weather in New York being much nicer than the desert, I tend to spend far more time indoors, here, than I ever did in California. And, after several hours a day staring at my apartment walls (however nicely decorated they may be), I start to go a little crazy. I'm in my element outside, I'm just not meant to be locked between walls with potted plants.
The problem is, every street in New York is surrounded by walls, some straight up to the sky.
There's no nature in this city, the animals will practically walk onto your lap for food. The wildest, most frightening creatures are the stray cats and the giant solitary roaches that appear from nowhere. There are also rats, but they're more interested in the garbage at your feet than the smell of your skin. And there are people everywhere.
Even so, I adore my parks. A good book amongst the clovers on a cool day is my kind of heaven.
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