Even as I see New York City day in and day out, there's a constant sense of newness, of rediscovery. New York City is inexhaustibly new. I stumble across its magnificence in the same way that I am reminded again how much I love Edna St. Vincent Millay's poetry, or a simple bluesy bass line, or even that love is wonderful, each time, all over and over again.

I love this vertical, intricate city, with its stone blocks and buildings, spun together with hard straight streets. I love it in the early morning when the city has a spacious, solemn dignity; and during the day when it gleams in the sunshine or storms grey in sheets of rain; and at night when I can hear my heels striking the pavement in brisk steps, breaking up the sleeping city all around me.

I love the city because to me, it is a whole, living, breathing being-- charming or comforting or heedless or heartbroken. I loved it when I came to know it, which was not soon or easy.

This has been the greatest love affair of my life.