The sadness of the steps.
We deliver meals to my dad and I ask my husband to drive down Fifth Avenue so that we can see Central Park in spring. Red bud blooms and there are daffodils poking their pretty faces above the ground. Tulips are everywhere.
And then we pass the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Which looks like it is midnight, only in broad daylight. The steps are empty. There is not one soul to be found anywhere.
On any given day in spring, these sunny steps would be teeming with humanity, people from all over the world coming to see art, sitting with a friend, watching the world go by.
But today, there is no one.