Manhattan’s skyscrapered canyons slice the sky into sections. Each day of the year, the sun sets behind a different building. Each day, that is, except two in midsummer straddling the solstice, when the sun settles on the horizon in line with the City’s tilted grid and its gilding light stretches the full breadth of the island.
You’re standing on the Tudor City Bridge. Over your right shoulder, the UN building, that shiny slab of peaceful dreams, stands between you and Queens. The day’s last rays cast the length of 42nd Street in molten gold. Past the Chrysler Building and Grand Central, past lions Patience and Fortitude guarding the Public Library, the sun dips into the Hudson like a commuter entering the Lincoln Tunnel.
The City never sleeps. But for this golden moment the bustle pauses. Everyone matches your westward gaze, gratefully receiving a solar blessing. Thus illuminated, the concrete jungle disappears, Gotham transformed to El Dorado, every stranger just a friend not yet met.