New York in November really does have a special charm to it. The air is clean and crisp, and the leaves on the trees in Central Park are just beginning to turn golden. The sky is so clear you can see forever, and the skyscrapers lavishly reflect the sun’s rays. You feel you can keep walking one block after another without end. Expensive cashmere coats fill the windows at Bergdorf Goodman, and the streets are filled with the delicious smell of roasted pretzels.”What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Haruki Murakami
Autumn in literature day 3?
This passage feels like your jogging through New York alongside Haruki Murakami. What strikes me here is how he contrasts the natural (trees, air, sun) with the man-made (Bergdorf Goodman, skyscrapers, roasted pretzels).
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!