In the northeast February is still winter. Regardless whether that scruffy little groundhog gets a glimpse of his shadow or not on February 2nd, the rest of the month is distinctly dark and dreary. It's too early for any but the most foolhardy of crocuses, and yet really too late for any long lasting deep snowfalls. What snow there is comes and goes, and so always appears in that grimy, mud-spattered, grey incarnation, not the bright glistening pristine white of January.

But this February in New York City the normally drab Central Park suddenly burst into color. A twenty-three mile long river of brilliant saffron color snaked its way around and through, meandered back and forth by the barren trees and beaten pathways of the park. For only sixteen days, from February 12-28, this orange-yel…