Easter on a rooftop.

For a weekend that was supposed to be dreary and wet, I’ve spent a lot of time outside. This hot spring Easter morning, I lounged on my roof, first with a cup of coffee then with a glistening bottle of Corona. My friends and I listened to music, gazing across other Brooklyn rooftops and the people outside. Someone was washing his car, a neighbor worked on his rooftop garden, and a couple sauntered outside dressed in suits, pastels and shoulder pads, ready for afternoon mass.

Spring in the city. Flowers blooming amidst skyscrapers. It’s beautiful.

Looking down 1st Ave.

Happy Easter.

Warm Air Sounds.

I can hear the subway creaking along the curves in the outdoor tracks that weave between the buildings in Bushwick, Brooklyn. It’s dark outside, just before midnight, and I’m having a beer with my window open. Today’s temperature nearly struck 80 degrees. A few nights ago I was shivering beneath my covers, thinking that Mother Nature is kind of a bitch. Today, she smiled. Spring in the city.

The warm air carries different sounds. The wind doesn’t whistle; it puffs. Baseball bats crack. People talk through smiles, their open jackets flapping. Sunglasses and squinting. Flowers for sale on the sidewalk.

Spring is streaky, an in-between that never lasts. But everyone feels spring. It’s audible. And my ears perk up to happier people and their sounds in the warm air.