Fleeting moments between spring and summer are magic in my little corner of NY harbor. Bikes and rollerblades speed by– walkers, joggers, and marathoners-in-training drink in the cool breeze laced with sweetness (honeysuckle?). And the hardy fishermen (with an occasional woman) cluster in cultural pockets, speaking Chinese, Spanish, or Brooklyn-drenched English.

At another fisherman’s pocket, we found this catch-of-the-day, still gasping for breath. The anglers didn’t understand enough English to identify it to another passerby (probably 3 feet long– a striped bass– one of those fish that you actually can eat from NY harbor, my husband noted.).

By dusk we’d moved back inland stopping for dinner in our local diner, barely making a dent in the mounds of pot roast and the Greek combo.

Long walk + leftovers = holiday weekend