March brought a subtle, thaw-scented humidity to the Hudson Highlands, softening the icy armor that had encased the granite promontories above Stony Point since mid-winter. The Hudson below had broken its solid white crust into vast, drifting ice floes that churned against the stone abutments of the lower landing, catching the sharp gold of early morning light. A steady southwest breeze swept up through the ravine, carrying the damp smell of melting snow, pine sap, and wet schist.
In the lower cataloging atrium of the East Pavilion, the shift in season was marked by the opening of the high clerestory ventilation vents. The cool, fresh mountain air circulated gently through the subterranean hall, mixing with the crisp, filtered atmosphere of the conservation climate loops.
I stood beside
