Tag Archives: Spring

An Idyllic Spring Morning in Syracuse

It’s a gorgeous spring day in Syracuse. The campus lawns radiate a vivid shade of green, illustrating the color that the Emerald City is known for. I’m sitting in the Life Sciences building, across from the College Place bus stop staring at the picturesque sky and watching bright-eyed tour groups pass by. It is a perfect morning. The Connective Corridor bus approaches, getting ready to make its routine trip from the heart of campus to the hip neighborhood of Armory Square. I had a choice. Either stay inside working on an assignment or take a few hours out of my schedule to enjoy the warm spring day. Thankfully, I chose the latter.

The initial plan was to grab an Italian meal at Pastabilities. The festive Italian joint is well known among the Syracuse community for its hot tomato oil and delicious array of pasta dishes. As I headed to the beloved eatery, I passed a small restaurant called Lofo. Patrons were dining outside enjoying the crisp weather and the premise of farm-to-table food was too good to resist.

Inside, I was greeted by a friendly wait staff, who encouraged me to sit at the bar where the restaurant boasts its myriad of local brews. The beers are proudly displayed on the top shelf, hailing from Ithaca, Skaneatlas, and the Salt City itself. I order a beet burger, with a succulent patty dyed purple from its namesake mixed with brown rice and black beans. On top rests a few avocados, smoked gouda cheese, and a drizzle of sriracha mayonnaise. It was absolutely heavenly, served on a homemade whole wheat bun that was toasted to perfection.

From there, I decided to check out some of Armory Square’s boutiques. Although they are miniscule compared to the nearby Destiny USA mall, the charm that these small businesses offer is often overlooked and the collection, although much smaller, usually has some quality pieces. After finding a great deal on jeans, I decided it was time for coffee, and when in Syracuse, there’s no better place to get that caffeine fix than at Kubal. The regional chain’s new art-deco location is an absolute must, with stunning views of Clinton Square and the iconic Niagara Mohawk building. I’m sitting here now, drinking a cappuccino watching joggers, dog walkers, and shoppers whiz past. It’s the perfect ending to a perfect afternoon.

Falling Tears

By Siddhi: 

The following is an observation I made of a woman while sitting on a bench at Union Square in New York City this spring: 

A single tear falls from her eyelid and slides gently down her rosy cheek before making a delicate plunge through space into the blue of her cross-legged lap. She is a woman in her mid 20s- fair skinned with light brown hair and sporting a white denim jacket over her ankle-length navy dress –sitting on a lonely bench in a cold and crowded Union Square. In one hand is a cup of coffee and in the other a slice of iced lemon pound cake being maneuvered out of the light brown trademark Starbucks bag as it crunches in the icy wind. Her iPhone is snuggled uncomfortably between her shoulder and her emerald green earring and she shifts minutely every few moments to keep it place so she can sip her hot drink. But whatever is happening between her ear and the phone seems irrelevant to her at this moment in time, her responses to whoever is on the other end of the line consisting of strained “hmms” and forced giggles. She gazes out into space, her eyes lost some place far, far away like the eyes of the woman in American photojournalist Dorothea Lange’s iconic image “Migrant Mother.” There is mysterious sorrow in these eyes.  Every few moments, she blinks repeatedly, her lashes fluttering at rapid pace like a butterfly with broken wings struggling to rise into the air. Her eyes well up with tears of grief that paint pain and raw sorrow on a once pale face turned red by the biting cold. Teardrops force themselves out of her clutch of self-control, unable to be trapped by her two hands that are occupied with a Starbucks cup and the telephone. The beads of tears fall helplessly. At first, only a few. And then, more and more. She has let go of something that has been fighting inside her for too long. Yet, she clenches her teeth to prevent the escape of a sniffle, and forces another enthusiastic giggle into her telephone. Her pain is independent of the phone conversation; her tears are invisible to the mystery caller on the other end of the line. Tears, giggles, tears, giggles. Her lap now looks like it danced in the rain.