Nature in the midst of the City–Central Park never fails to amaze with its healing beauty and metaphysical insights. Now, in winter, it continues to reveal its secrets.
As I traverse its curved pathways, climb its elevations, descend through its tunnels, span its bridges–I become aware, in the absence of leaves, how close everything appears.
The dressed and verdant trees of summer seems to separate the Park into innumerable sections, hidden one from the other by the dense, deep, healing green. It is difficult to look past what stands before our eyes.
But now, in December, when there are no barriers, everything seems so much smaller, closer, vulnerable. The entrance on 69th street seems to pour onto the Sheep Meadow, now. Not so in summer. From the Strawberry Fields section near the Dakota Hotel where John Lennon was killed to the Lake now seems so obvious and nearby. Not so in the summer when no one could imagine that a large body of water was so close.
Even the width of the Park itself, from Fifth Avenue in the East to Central Park West, seems more like its reported distance, only a half mile. Now it is easy to see large buildings on both sides, simultaneously. No one would believe that claim during the warm, sultry summers when the Park seems to extend in a cloak of green in all directions and for miles.
So be aware–our perceptions are deceiving. They change, evolve, transmute themselves continuously. In winter or summer, in spring or fall. Where is the illusion? Which is correct? That is not the right question. They are our perceptions–they are own own. They are our reality.