The Tree Outside My Window
From the beginning of the Covid quarantine the tree outside my window on St. Marks Place became my companion. A tree that had been in my periphery for 40 years was now my connection to the outside world. As time slowed down, and the silence of a world without planes above and traffic below made way for the language of the natural world, I began to see my tree differently. The tree had its own unfolding story to tell, its own rhythm. Nature in full force would decide its fate. Some of its branches died and will not bloom again. The East Village, which surrounds it, has changed forever, but what remains is a magnificent story of the cycle of my tree’s life. If I can listen with my deepest self, perhaps I will hear its voice tell the story of what it has seen since its birth.
Spring One
Spring Two
Spring Three
Spring Four
Spring Five
Spring Six
Spring Seven
Spring Eight
Spring Nine
Spring Ten
Summer One
Summer Two
Summer Three
Summer Four
Summer Five
Summer Six
Summer Seven
Summer Eight
Summer Nine
Summer Ten
Fall One
Fall Two
Fall Three
Fall Four
Fall Five
Fall Six
Fall Seven
Fall Eight
Fall Nine
Fall Ten
Winter One
Winter Two
Winter Three
Winter Four
Winter Five
Winter Six
Winter Seven
Winter Eight
Winter Nine
