It shines for what seems a wink of the eye. So easy to miss it unless, yes, you keep your eye on the prize.
I am by no means an expert. But I know where my favorites are: On the grounds of Brooklyn's Green-Wood Cemetery, down 24th Street between Fifth and Sixth avenues; a pair on the wee hill at the south side of the Third Street entrance to Prospect Park, and deeper in the park, at the western porch of the Lullwater Bridge with great views of the Boathouse.
It's the late November-early December bloom of my favorite pine: the golden larch. In bright slanting sun the needles literally burn in a golden glow that is as close as I'll ever get to the riches of Fort Knox, which is okay, by my lights, because you can keep that easy money, or your Black Friday specials, the first strains of Christmas carols, the bell tolls of the churches. Stop under a golden larch and, yes, you might just say (or sing) to yourself, the best things in life are free.
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