It’s a dirty little secret about life in New York City: It rains a lot here. A lot. And often, it’s not a happy, warm rain. It’s a frigid windy deluge, soaking your pants, your socks and your soul. Subways shut down, taxis stop running and suddenly, you find yourself watching more MTV than you ever could have imagined.
But when it’s all over, beauty does emerge. Tulips will open, trees will sprout young leaves, and I’ll finally get to wear a skirt again.
For now, a random pretty photo.