What if each of us already is what we couldn’t even dare to dream we could become? What if there is reality that is free of conflict, free of the suffering, of trying so hard to be the person we are conditioned to believe we are supposed to be? And what if all we have to do is to learn to clear away the obstacles preventing us from living the truth that we already are?
In April, the New York State Department of Health (DOH) announced that New Yorkers could eat some fish from the Lower Hudson River for the first time in 50 years. It marked a milestone for a river with a toxic reputation and an infamous designation as the country’s largest Superfund site.
The sun is slanting into fall with the season pushing toward Lights Out NYC to help safeguard migratory birds navigating through our blinding metropolis. I spent August trekking toward a different kind of Lights Out: the total solar eclipse in Iceland.
On Friday, July 3 at 8 p.m., I watched from my window as a windy mist turned suddenly into a ten minute raging thunderstorm with heavy rain falling sideways from the west.
New York City served up so many celebratory spectacles this summer that detoured me from my usual thither and yon devoted birding outings. Did those stop me from seeing birds? Nope.
It was a bizarre scene on Saturday, May 30, after a Village View fan alerted me of a fallen tree on West 11th between 6th and 7th avenues.
Hands down, the West Village wildlife story of the month is that right before sunset on an evening in early June, from the south rocks of Hudson River Park’s Gansevoort Peninsula, what should make landfall out of the surf—but a beaver!
One of the most popular games for bird watchers is known as First of Season: the first bird of a species that arrives during spring migration. This is a natural extension of the ongoing game many birders play of keeping lists of the bird species that they have seen.
I’m greedy. Even while doing a happy dance for the arrival of spring birds, I don’t want the winter birds to leave. And even though, in three short weeks between January 31 and February 20, I added four new birds to my West Village Bird List—I still want more.
Last June, I found a baby bird on the Bowery ─ with no nest in sight, I brought it home. “What’s your plan for this bird? Don’t rope me in!” That was my boyfriend talking.
