Poetree, New York City

Knitfiti is the inspired practice of wrapping urban elements—from bike racks and benches to stop signs and tree trunks—in colorful 3-D yarn. Also known as “yarn bombing,” it’s traditionally performed in stealth. Anything is fair game. I’ve seen tree trunks, bikes, fire hydrants, stop signs and ugly scaffolding all brightened by cheerful knitted or crocheted tubes.

Poetry bombing is less of a thing. Until now. A mysterious poet-tree lover has been glorifying the Upper West Side’s blossoming cherry trees with A. E. Houseman’s poem, “Loveliest of Trees.” My first sighting (above) was tied with purple ribbon to a townhouse iron fence; my second (below) hung off a mighty branch in Riverside Park. Both were printed on three hole-punched binder paper, protected by a plastic sleeve, and blotched purple from the morning rain. I stopped to read the poem and admire the tree in both locations. It was urban “Versifiti” at its best.

Trashed, New York City

It was a dark and stormy night when a scofflaw snuck this unloved TV with shattered screen out to the curb. I've seen a lot of random refuse in my time, including an entire piano soundboard and a sweet hand-painted sign saying "Mom loves Norm" (was it Mom or Norm who put it out?). But this was my first sad and forlorn flat screen stuck out in melting spring snow.

All trash tells a story: This one's a double crime in progress. New York City law requires e-waste to be taken to an electronic recycling station. Also, household garbage is banned from sidewalk sanitation baskets. Who could do such a thing? Maybe there's a registered serial number here. No doubt the perp is chomping popcorn and streaming Netflix on a newer model at this very moment.

The questions ask themselves. How did the screen crack? Did the TV fall off the wall or was an object thrown at it? Who opts for Vizio over Panasonic? Let's look at motives. Did a lazy owner with a guilty conscience think, "Nah, not lugging it on the subway. But I'll almost do the right thing." Or in blind denial, "Perhaps someone will want it?" The plot lines are endless.

Spring cleaning can be ruthless. Could have been a condo-owning Kondo-izer (The Life-Changing Magic of Cleaning Up by Marie Kondo) or a foresighted Swedish death-cleaner (The Gentle Art of Swedish Death-Cleaning: How to Free You and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter by Margareta Magnusson. Broken TV's certainly do not spark joy or thrill heirs.

The only thing I know for sure. It was a dark and stormy night. All better to avoid the $200 fine.

Cheeky, NYC

Lately, everyone and everything seems to be getting louder. Yelling on cable news, ALL-CAPS on Twitter, amped-up music, you name it. My hunch was confirmed this week by this New Yorker piece by Amanda Petrusich. She notes in it that ubiquitous dynamic range compression is "the audio equivalent of writing in all capital letters," that "productive discourse has been reduced to simply securing the most deafening bullhorn," and even the ocean "is getting progressively less quiet." Noise pollution, like other kinds, is stuck on high.

One way to turn down the volume is to remember that whispering also commands attention. I've seen teachers quiet a noisy classroom by lowering, not raising, their voices. At the Women's March 2018 in New York City on January 20, the protester in the photo above stood out in a crowd with a cheek sign tinier than a button. Quirky and memorable, it proved you don't always have to shout to be heard.

Smarter, New York

Smart cars are so adorable you just want to pick them up and put them in your pocket. Whenever I see one, I hope these extremely efficient and small-is-beautiful Mercedes are counterbalancing the horrendous number of gas-guzzling black SUV's picking up in the city. The jelly bean-sized cars are so well-designed for the Rush Hour maze that even the NYPD bought a fleet.

Some owners can't resist gloating. When I saw this blue subcompact backing up into a luggage-sized space, I thought, what a real New York car.  It wasn't just Smart, it was also Smart-ass.

Housing Crisis, Boston

My first thoughts were of Dorothy when I came across this sunflower yellow Quaker-style house askew in the Rose Kennedy Greenway in downtown Boston. Was there a dead Brahmin stuck underneath? Actually, all Oz allusions were accidental, according to Brooklyn artist Mark Reigelman. He created this art piece, "The Meeting House," from traditional building materials like Eastern white cedar and birch plywood to reference both the residential disruption caused by highway infrastructure projects and the healing qualities of communal civic structures.

As work and chores migrate to the web, I think places where people can gather and talk face to face and make progress as a community become even more appreciated. I've noticed that inviting lounges and shared worktables are super trendy, not just in expected places like hotel lobbies and coffee shops, but also in museums and even gyms. MoMA's new renovation, for example, adds 25-percent more public space, including a stunning second floor cafe and first floor lobby lounge. The stylish entrance space of my newly madeover Equinox gym fuses hotel lobby with high-tech workspace. Gym members give fingers and minds a workout while sitting at long shared work tables with electric outlets, rows of marble cafe tables or on stylish black upholstered chaise lounges. You could spend all day at the gym without breaking a sweat.

The irony is that people using these public work spaces often line up next to each other staring at glowing screens like toddlers in parallel play, communing without communicating. I call it public isolation. Perhaps if a large Meeting House landed in their midst they would put down their screens and talk to each other, which is why I think some people secretly love disasters. When you contrast Reigelman's colorful small house with the large impersonal glass skyscrapers in the distance, which one would you rather play in?

Thanksgiving, Antarctica

You know what I'm truly grateful for this Thanksgiving? Glaciers and pristine wilderness. Both are essential to the long term health of our shared planet, and both can still be found in Antarctica. I took this photo of floating ice fragments and glaciers off the coast of the Antarctic Peninsula about ten years ago. I wonder how much less there is of this ice mass now? Ice shrinkage of the Peninsula has been accelerating since 1996, as confirmed in a 2016 study from NASA. I was amazed to discover when I traveled to Antarctica that you can not only see, but also hear, the sounds of temperature warming. When large chunks of ice separate from the ice sheet, they make violent cracking and booming sounds. It sounds a little like construction demolition. You could say it's the sound of Mother Nature blowing up. Will glaciers become our century's dinosaurs? Today, for now, I give thanks they're still here.