In 1992, during dark Spring mornings, I'd cross the street to climb the fence at Gramercy Park - Suddenly, trees, shrubs, and a bronze statue of the brother of the man who put a lead ball through Lincoln's head. A quiet place to Pause & Reflect & Search; a still place that the drunken madness of city & friends could not penetrate & disrupt - where warblers sang before dawn and you needed a key. There I'd sit in shadows, often wondering if others ever came to this serene oasis in darkness... especially cops... and then, only today, I discover this:

E.B. White - 1929