Rain fell softly, as if the city itself had exhaled.
Autumn held on—
its leaves aglow, golden against the hush.
Skaters glided like memories across the rink,
fragile, fleeting, free.
Above them, buildings vanished into cloud,
ghosts of ambition wrapped in mist.
Yet here, at ground level,
there was only stillness,
only joy.
A moment suspended—
where the season blushed, the skyline blurred,
and New York opened its quiet heart.