Yoga Dreams

When I close my eyes at the end of yoga class to relax in Shivasina pose, I am in New York again. I can see the high tin ceiling of the room I practiced in for the last five years. The traffic outside is the intersection of Broadway and Houston. People are teeming in and out of Crate & Barrel. Then I open my eyes, startled at the unfamiliar room and unfamiliar faces and sad for a moment that when I go outside, I'll cross Fairfax and get into my car rather than walking toward home along Bleecker Street.

The Sweet Scent

Now is the exact same time of year when I left New York last May. I remember being so upset that I wouldn't get to see the tree bloom outside the window of my West Village apartment. In the end my place took so long to sell, that I did see it. Now, living in L.A., there is a different kind of springtime feeling. The jacaranda trees are in bloom, with their beautiful violet flowers. When I take a walk in the evenings, their color seems to vibrate in harmony with the blue of the sky as it turns to dusk. And the flowers here smell so sweet -- half the time I'm not even sure which flowers are making the sweet scent -- but it wafts through the evening air as I walk to unwind after dinner. And it's lovely.