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Sometime in the early morning, just before Central Park, I called my wife because I was simply too happy to contain myself. I had to tell her something, but I couldn�t put it into words. Perhaps I had never been so alive. New York can be like that � once in a while the city slows down and becomes ours, we look up, we see ourselves as a part of something very fine and rare, green and black, slowly growing. Not I am, but there it is. That New York exists is a miracle, and for its citizens, the city offers as good a shot at transcendence as any forest or cathedral. The awareness of being part of something more sublime � this crumbling, singing city, and all our lives crumbling and singing too � somehow walking the island�s body before people are on the streets makes the chance to have that feeling much greater. It�s a fleeting moment, only two seconds long, but it�s there.