Sometimes you need some sky.
Feb. 21st, 2013 09:56 pmI need to get to know the Hudson River better. My birthday's coming up soon, and I'm seriously tempted to get myself a pair of roller skates and go up and down the park down there. It's tempted me for the past couple of years, and I finally might capitalize on that - I've been taking more walks by the water and really enjoying myself, and it'd get me to add some cardio to my routine.
Last Saturday, before I met with my grandmother and brother for dinner, I finally made it down to the Irish Hunger Memorial. It was quiet, moving, and immersing the way good memorials ought to be. What struck me most was the communicated sense of emptiness throughout - not just in the house, but in the very tiny bits of land as well, and even in the tiny scale, it gave a sense of the devastation. There wasn't enough sunlight for shadows, and when I got up to the top and looked out and back, down at the empty hills and the trees without leaves set against an empty, gray sky, I couldn't help but think of home and California. It helped snap some of the Memorial's intentions into focus for me - the reminder of what was left behind. So I stood there a while, thinking about the horrors people tried to escape in the past, and let the place speak for itself. And then kept on walking up the Hudson.
Yesterday I wanted to get under the sky for a while, so I did what I usually do for that and took a form of public transportation to a place a good distance from my place and walked back. This time, it was about forty blocks north, and it was in literal freezing temperatures - by the water it was probably below freezing, and by the time I got back inside the right side of my face, the side that got all the wind, was uncomfortably cold and almost numb. But it was worth it, for all the cold, because when the sun came out and spread summer over the water, or when the clouds parted and light came over me, I couldn't do anything but stop and smile to watch. To just enjoy the sky.
Out by the Hudson is the most sky I can get, and with a decent pair of skates, I think I'd be able to get up and down it in a way that would satisfy the requirements for the number one rule of the zombie apocalypse.
Last Saturday, before I met with my grandmother and brother for dinner, I finally made it down to the Irish Hunger Memorial. It was quiet, moving, and immersing the way good memorials ought to be. What struck me most was the communicated sense of emptiness throughout - not just in the house, but in the very tiny bits of land as well, and even in the tiny scale, it gave a sense of the devastation. There wasn't enough sunlight for shadows, and when I got up to the top and looked out and back, down at the empty hills and the trees without leaves set against an empty, gray sky, I couldn't help but think of home and California. It helped snap some of the Memorial's intentions into focus for me - the reminder of what was left behind. So I stood there a while, thinking about the horrors people tried to escape in the past, and let the place speak for itself. And then kept on walking up the Hudson.
Yesterday I wanted to get under the sky for a while, so I did what I usually do for that and took a form of public transportation to a place a good distance from my place and walked back. This time, it was about forty blocks north, and it was in literal freezing temperatures - by the water it was probably below freezing, and by the time I got back inside the right side of my face, the side that got all the wind, was uncomfortably cold and almost numb. But it was worth it, for all the cold, because when the sun came out and spread summer over the water, or when the clouds parted and light came over me, I couldn't do anything but stop and smile to watch. To just enjoy the sky.
Out by the Hudson is the most sky I can get, and with a decent pair of skates, I think I'd be able to get up and down it in a way that would satisfy the requirements for the number one rule of the zombie apocalypse.
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