It is easy to spot a tourist in New York, amongst other possible give a ways, they are the ones taking pictures of the squirrels. New Yorkers weigh in differently on the creatures’ appeal, but I see few, if any, stopping to take the furry creatures’ photographs.

However, this is not to suggest that New Yorker’s are indifferent to wildlife. The other day, perched atop the head of a statue in the western part of Central Park, was a young red-tailed hawk. Keeping a respectful distance from this exquisite avian was a slew of local enthusiasts. They were chatting amiably amongst themselves, standing by their tripods and cameras equipped with enormous zoom lens.

“May I take a look through your camera?” I asked one of the gentleman. He somewhat hesitantly said yes.  I approached the camera resting on a sturdy tripod and through the powerful lens I could see almost every feather on the hawk’s head. The hawk looked directly at me. “He’s looking right at me!” I excitedly said. The man clicked the cord connected to the camera and took multiple shots.

“You see this crowd? We all know each other. We know his favorite spots and meet up .” The man explained.

I still find squirrels cute and charming, but it was the sight of the red-tailed hawk that I continued to think of throughout the day.

Last night I was riding my bicycle along the west side of Manhattan. There is a scenic bike path that follows the river and I was looking for an entryway from the street above. I noticed a very long flight of stairs, but the weight of my bike discouraged me from carrying it down.

I headed over to the sidewalk for a better view, but still saw nothing. Just then, a man and woman were approaching me. They were well-dressed, speaking amiably to each other. Both were in wheelchairs.

“Excuse me, do you know if there’s a ramp to get down to the river?” I asked. They stopped, and the woman replied as she pointed..”Yes, just on the other side of that tree. The ramp’s a bit tough for us, so we use another one a bit further on, but it should be fine for you.”

From my position the ramp was obscured. “Just there? I don’t see it.” I sheepishly said. ” “No, you can’t see it from here, but if you go on the other side of the tree you will,” the man joined in. I thanked them, and followed their directions. The ramp was there.

I looked back and noticed that they had lingered. I gave a wave and thanked them again. They waved back with smiles and continued on.

It’s ninety-two degrees outside and I have a jacket in anticipation of frigid air-conditioned interiors. (Certain subway cars are more suitable for transporting meat than live flesh.) And I am not alone. There are others, mostly women, wearing or carrying extra garments too.

This particular subway car however, is comfortable. The crowd inside is undoubtedly raising the temperture. There is a small group of tourists standing near me. Their guide book is prominantly displayed while they chat in a foreign tongue. The doors at my stop open and I get up to leave.  The tourists are leaving the car too. It is then we all notice a yellow sweater has slipped to the floor.  They gingerly step over it, clearly unsure of what to do. I snatch it up. The doors of the car close behind me.

At that moment I am wondering if taking the sweater was a wise idea. “Who does it belong to? How can I return it?” I quickly look around and see a woman in a summer dress walking up the stairs. Fortunately, at that moment there are very few women ahead of me. I assume it is hers and do my best to reach her. The station is crowded. My progress is slow. Upstairs is another subway line and the woman is turning to enter the awaiting train. While still making my way up I give out a cry, ” Hello! Hello!” She turns! “Is this yours?” I say while showing her the sweater in my hand. Her eyes show surprise. She smiles wide and says. “Yes, yes. Thank you. Thank you very much!” I hand her the sweater as she dashs into the subway car.

Whatever the temperature awaiting her, she was well prepared.