the New York City High Line, at last

Our son's move to New York City has opened many doors for us. "We're coming," we'll say, and he'll have ideas. Steer us to new places, make sure we're never lost when we emerge from subway stations, get us to the Chelsea Market, which I hadn't realized I'd been missing all my life.

This past weekend, among many other things, our son introduced us to the High Line, a walk I've wanted to take since this 1.5 mile stretch of former railroad tracks was reinvented as an urban escape. Weaving over rail yards, through the shadows of rising towers and old churches (or at least one old church), beneath the branches of soon-to-be-blooming trees, and beside bold art, this was my kind of slice of urban paradise.

Pedestrians—and the industrial past—are being honored in cities across the country. I'm dismayed by so much that is part of our right now.

But this delights me.