New York City has a short spring season. March and April can be blustery and damp, vestiges of winter that can't take a hint to get lost. Then comes May, with its five temperate weekends, shirt sleeve weather and organized sports. One of the joys of living in New York City is the extraordinary month of May. The meticulously planned New York World's Fair of 1939 opened April 30th to capture a full measure of New York's Maytime. By mid-June, the park is lush green and in full anticipation of a long lazy summer, and if New Yorkers get lucky, Indian Summer could linger until Christmas - nature balancing the painfully short Spring.

Spring is new life bursting with energy. Oh what a force is unleashed on the world, the vitality of youth shedding all bounds, and coming forth to a place in the sun, unmindful of what went before.

Spring is the timeless source of inspiration to poets, to artists, to lovers. Spring, the embodiment of nature's breathless beauty and grace.

Spring is the fulfillment of unfettered will power, a season when life stands singularly triumphant, and all things are possible.