I went out Sunday, the first truly nice one of the spring here in Manhattan, thinking that if I just disconnected for a bit, I would get something done. It was an overly ambitious thought. I sat at a picnic table in the Pinetum in Central Park. A French speaking family sat behind me having lunch and a German-speaking father played football, the not American kind, with his three young sons. A middle-aged Russian couple sat down and shared the large table with me, sitting facing away, directly across from me. A little girl sat atop a rock, and shrieked an ear-piercing little girl shriek every time her brother tried to climb up with her. I watched the leaves of trees silently move in the breeze at a distance, hypnotic in the manner of flowing water. I got little done, and failed to convince myself it was a productive afternoon nonetheless, but it was a pleasant change, to be distracted by people and trees rather than the internet.