You have to pay attention to see early spring. In the city especially. If you’re not careful you bemoan the fact that it’s still chilly and gray without noticing the pops of purple poking through grayed-out leaves. When you’re so eager for the magnolias and the daffodils and days that are warm enough that you don’t have to cross to the sunny side of the street to feel the sunshine, you chance wishing away the crocuses and sailing right over the snow drops.
On my morning walks to bring Faye to babysitting last week, we would pass a whole row of crocuses on Houston Street. They were poking up from between used paper towels and cigarette butts and wadded up pieces of who-knows-what in a fenced-in bit of grass between the main street and an access road. In spite of the chill in the air and in spite of the trash, the bright purple crocuses were resolute in their cheer. Closer to home, I’ve been taking walks along the Brooklyn Heights Promenade where clusters of crocuses in every shade of purple have cropped up.