Yesterday was the first day of spring in Brooklyn. Walking along Eastern Parkway, I witnessed hundreds of celebratory moments. No fewer than five men repaired their cars, hoods raised with tools piled on the sidewalk. Four men and women held a door for another. One woman smiled in response to my giggle at her baby’s dramatic cry. Widows sat on park benches sharing stories of aching ailments. Jewish neighbors dressed as dinosaurs, pirates, princesses, yodellers, etc wished one another a Happy Purim. I sat adjacent to a woman knitting at a permanent chess table, not far from the whale in Lincoln Terrace Park and sketched the children playing. The sound of their collective laughter, yells, stomping feet, and squeaking swings transported the entire playground to another world in which the wind was warm and the ground we shared was not just for passing.