Ecstatic February by OTBKB

The Gates are one of the best things to ever happen to New York in February.

February: it may be the shortest month, but it slogs on and on.
There’s usually ice, slush or snow on the sidewalks, bitter winter
temperature and face slapping winds. The last few Februarys have seen
city-stopping blizzards that have wreaked havoc on hectic lives.

Years back, when I was experiencing a depressing February, this
song by Dar Williams was on repeat on the CD player in the living room.
Maybe that was part of the problem. But it seemed to express so well
the hopelessness and listlessness of this deep-winter month.

And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together.
You stopped and pointed and you said, "Thats a crocus,"
And I said, "Whats a crocus?" and you said, "Its a flower,"
I tried to remember, but I said, "Whats a flower?"
You said, "I still love you."

But this year the color orange seems to be everywhere. Hats. Pants,
Coats, Gloves. And of course, throughout Central Park, orange curtains
are blowing in the wind. The fabric dances and changes color from
orange to saffron to deep yellow in the sun. Enhanced by these bright
orange structures, we see our mighty park through a new frame.

The Gates are an elixir for the mid-winter doldurms, that spiritual
abyss that usually sets in this time of year when everyone is sick of
their down filled coats and hearts are yearning for chirping birds and
the buds of spring.

This city is just so excited about this monumental pick-me-up.
People are throwing parties, taking walks, meeting friends in the park.
A friend threw a viewing party in her Central Park West apartment with
its park-facing windows. An aunt of mine doesn’t even live near the
park, but she invited friends over for coffee and a group pilgrammage
to The Gates.

These events are like Superbowl parties for the Christo-crazed.

What happens to New Yorkers when they are ecstatic in February?
Nobody really knows. It’s never happened before: this is an experiment
in the transformative powers of art. We don’t even recognize ourselves.
Eyes open wide, promenading through The Gates in cold and fair weather,
we’re connecting with all of our senses.

What happens to New Yorkers when they are ecstatic in February?

They swoon. And the world swoons with them.