Walking up First Avenue, today, on my way to swim, a girl of about twenty handed me a yellow tulip while her friend filmed her. Walking in opposite directions, we didn’t stop as we exchanged smiles. She seemed to struggle not to avert her eyes. The flower was nearly the last of the bunch she’d been distributing; its leaves and one of its petals drooped.

I stopped in one of the Indian stores to buy nuts. As I searched out the almonds, cashews and filberts, a couple of Latinas, about my age, examined rocks for crushing spices at the end of the aisle. The rocks came in sets, an oblong that fit in your hand, and a slab. They discussed the implements in Spanish and English. In Spanish, they said it would be a good thing to have around the kitchen for when your man got out of hand, “biff,” and in English they said it was an interesting utensil. They went to the next aisle and continued their conversation in the same way. I called across the clutter, “You guys are rough.” They weren’t sure if I was talking to them. Then I went around and handed one of them the tulip, “Now you won’t have to beat anyone up.” We laughed.

Further up First -- and the connection is only the spring and the walk -- a young couple was walking my way. She was a step or two ahead of him and smiling broadly, obviously liked him very much. She did a little turn, a complete 360 -- rather like the pigeons at this time of year, if more graceful -- and said, “so you want an arranged marriage.” I wish them much happiness. And all of you, as well.