At the very top of Manhattan, just a few blocks from the 207th Street stop on the A Train, there is a forest. Yes, you read that correctly: a forest in Manhattan. I used to live across the street from the edge of the park, and in the summer I’d climb to the top of the hills overlooking the Hudson River and pick hundreds of tiny wineberries - like wild raspberries, only more delicate - until my fingertips were stained crimson. The color of this faceted pearl reminds me vividly of those berries.
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