There's something magical about New York City no matter what time of year you go. Yesterday, a hint of the lingering summer was still in the air, but a few leaves were drifting down into Central Park and the afternoon sun streamed through the leaves. I was drawn to the stairs by the soft inviting sound of cello, guitar and violin music gently wafting up from the dim tunnel below and the sound of the fountain drops serenely striking sun bathed marble stones. Descending below, I gazed in appreciation at the mosaic of the ceiling and the artistry of the pillars around me, when suddenly, I saw them. The two young lovers wrapped in each other: arms, hands, eyes. A new life beginning while the street musicians feet away played their gentle songs for a few dollars earned. They danced, they laughed, they twirled below the mosaic, lost in another world, oblivious to the change of seasons or the simple beauty of their shadows against the old hard stones benealth their feet, barely touching the ground. Their eyes were only for each other and I was completely lost in my own heart of hearts, enjoying a glimpse of their happiness, a moment when the world could stop and be still, when paradise could be found, when love could simply be.
