Manhattan’s last remaining salt marshes and old forests, unique geology, and a confluence of salt and fresh water, are a refuge of biodiversity and a source of health and spiritual renewal for residents and visitors alike. But if the old forest could talk she might say, 'thanks but, i'm not an oasis and no man is an island.' Meaning our public spaces are also part of a bigger ecosystem, and we need to think global too.

The woods are frozen, snow turned to ice covering the forest floor. It is dusk. I am moving – tentatively – first one step, and then another, under the Clove’s forest canopy. This unique and important island of trees is a secret habitat defined by a clove-shaped ridge line that protects it from the city that surrounds it. Suddenly, I crash through the crust with a thud. The sound echoes off the stones and trees.

Photograph: Cristóbal Vivar

The asphalt is hot, baking in the summer sun. Buildings are heating up too, the bricks warm to the touch. There is little relief in the city on an August day. Everything seems more intense, more consequential. There is a feeling a storm is approaching.

Photograph: Adam Stoltman