In the unrelenting asphalt and dressed stone of Manhattan, Central Park in spring appears as an ethereal Eden.
Looking at the old trees with thick, far-reaching branches, I think about the natural tress that were here before the conquering of New Amsterdam. Fitzgerald wrote about that, in Great Gatsby he talks about the green breast of untouched land that was here before the dutch landed. When the Dutch arrived, the came “face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder. ”
Perhaps the ambitious conquerers in this great city come here to remember how to wonder.