It seems like just a few weeks or months ago, not a whole year, that I was standing in this spot taking this photo with my mum. I was still a resident of New York and she’d come to visit me, before we boarded a flight to Europe together for a river cruise of the festive cities along the Danube. I could hardly breathe without feeling pain it was so cold (as I remember it) but Central Park was still in the grips of a beautiful autumn blanket. Trees were the colors of a bag of Starburst if you only had cherry, orange and lemon left. Holiday windows were already causing lines of tourists to jam up Fifth Avenue. I had to buy a hat from one of the street vendors because my ears were so cold I thought they’d fall off if I didn’t cover my head. The scent of roasting chestnuts mixed with the odor of the horses, the taxi exhaust, the grit that just is New York’s smell. I didn’t feel grateful to be living there anymore. I felt ready to leave. . But I didn’t have a clue that in less than 6 months from that day my life would be spread around in boxes across multiple states. Or that a year to the day I’d be sitting on a balcony in Los Angeles in a t-shirt as hummingbirds zoomed by my head, pausing to drink from the flowers I’d planted on my balcony. . Adults used to tell me when I was a kid “be careful squirt, time flies;” in that vaguely condescending way only adults speaking to kids can, and I hated it. . I think I’ve only just realized what they really meant.