Here on the upper west side autumn has arrived in full force.
Night rolls in by seven, couching my evening time walk to the park in navy blue and lamplight, illuminating only the silhouettes of the people I pass by. It is cold and crisp and the neighborhood itself seems to have grown into a warm and amber orange, perhaps in place of the leaves that it lacks. I’ve never felt fall so deeply in the city, perhaps because there’s never been the space to. But there’s kids up here, and with them comes a mentality that refuses to take itself too seriously. As a result, I’ve slowed down considerably and feel like I am living my life in the moment, rather than in anticipation of it.

My body is taking a deep breath and re-booting, the change is in my skin, my blood cells, and my ability to find peaceful sleep. The change is also one of space and how my body occupies it, a transition that is accented each time I go downtown for class and am tossed about and rattled by flocks of people, all on an individual mission. I used to walk Calvin on 10th street and find myself plastered up against a building, pushed aside by a throng of speed walking hipsters, their skintight jeans pushing all the blood to their loins, and giving them a slouchy and determined walk in the direction of alphabet city.

Up here it’s kids who fills the streets. But they are wide streets, with room for Calvin to walk way out on the end of his 16 foot long leash, for me to run alongside him, and for the kiddos to pass us by, or stop us to ask for Calvin’s name. These youthful west siders are out each night in droves, skipping down the street or perched atop their parents shoulders, flocking to one of the many candy stores that litter Columbus Avenue, nestled in between chic little bistros strung with the white twinkle lights I so adore.
Somehow the kids really bring to attention, not only the availability of space and the change it has affected in me, but also the change in the seasons. Fall excites them with its newness and the promise of an onslaught of holidays to come: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas…all of which translate to candy, stuffing and presents respectively.

Despite a bit of baggage that keeps me from joyously bounding towards the holiday season in full out childish abandon, in my heart, I too associate the entry of autumn with the excitement of Halloween and the like. It has shifted a bit though, and this year, I find myself perfectly content just to watch the kids tear towards home on a chilly evening, brandishing a newly purchased light saber and laden with plastic bags full of the makings of Luke Skywalker’s garb.

This essay is rambling, but full of the feelings of warmth and belonging that the upper west side has settled into my soul. I passed this place tonight, Alice’s Tea Cup…if I were tea spot, this is what I would look like. A purple painted nook on the corner of Columbus and 73rd street, glittering with warm and welcoming juju and bedecked in little white Christmas lights.

Tomorrow I will go have a cup of tea there. And I will walk Calvin the three blocks over to central park where we’ll take the path we’ve made routine, crossing the wooden covered bridge and passing through a small crop of wood that opens up onto the horseback riding trail. From there we’ll head over to the turtle pond, where older women set on the grass and read novels and couples make out on the dusty rock that juts into the water and offers a fabulous view of the Manhattan skyline. I’ll stop many times along the way to let passing kiddos pet my dog. I’ll breath in the moment, and think it sharp and obscure all at once, like it was as a child, in a world where the only anticipation was directed towards the turn of the season and the next celebration.