There’s something almost electric in the air when winter starts loosening its grip. I felt it walking through Central Park last week. That subtle shift when you realize you don’t need gloves anymore, when the light stays just a little longer each evening. It’s my favorite time to be in a city, honestly. Spring hasn’t fully arrived yet, so you’re not competing with everyone else’s sudden urge to be outdoors, but winter’s harsh edges are softening.
I’ve been making it a point to revisit places that felt completely different just a month ago. That rooftop bar in Brooklyn that was practically abandoned in February? Now it’s starting to buzz again, but not quite packed yet. The morning walks along the Hudson River feel less like survival missions and more like actual enjoyment. Even the pigeons seem more optimistic.
These photos from my recent trip to Austria capture exactly what I’m talking about. That perfect moment when winter is still holding on but you can sense the change coming. The lake reflects those snow-covered peaks with such clarity, and you get this incredible silence that only happens in mountain valleys during transition seasons.
What I love about this transitional season is how it reveals the city’s true character. The tourists haven’t fully returned, the locals are cautiously emerging from hibernation, and everything feels more authentic somehow. I spent yesterday afternoon in Washington Square Park just watching the chess players who’ve been there all winter, finally without their heavy coats and wool hats. The fountain isn’t running yet, but kids are already eyeing it hopefully.
The photography opportunities during this time are incredible too. You get this soft, diffused light that’s completely different from winter’s harsh angles or summer’s intensity. Shadows are longer but gentler. Colors are starting to return to the landscape. Not the full explosion of spring, but those first hints of green pushing through last year’s brown leaves.
I’ve been documenting these in-between moments because they’re so fleeting. The way morning fog lifts off the East River, revealing the city slowly. How construction workers are moving with more energy now that they’re not fighting brutal wind chills. The gradual return of outdoor dining setups, tentative and hopeful.
There’s also something deeply satisfying about having your favorite outdoor spots back to yourself for just a little while longer. That bench in Prospect Park where I like to sit with coffee and plan my day? Still mine for now. The walking path along the waterfront in DUMBO? Practically empty at sunrise, but I know that won’t last much longer.
It makes me think about timing and how much it affects our experience of places. The same corner café that will be impossible to get a table at by May is still offering that perfect window seat. The same park that will be packed with picnickers in two months still has quiet corners where you can actually hear birds over traffic.
I’m trying to savor these moments because I know they’re temporary. Soon enough, the full energy of spring will hit, outdoor spaces will fill up, and the city will shift into its warmer weather rhythm. But right now, in this perfect in-between time, all these places are there waiting. Familiar but renewed, accessible but not overcrowded. It’s like having a secret handshake with the city itself.
