As birthdays go, it was a good one.
Mar. 11th, 2013 11:15 pmAll in all, there wasn't any cake. But that's all right, since I know by now I can make myself cake if I like. I got myself lunch out, some books to read, pots for my plants and a couple more dresses, and I went down to the water, which was the best of all, really.
The little park out near Williamsburg's main drag goes out to the East River, and opens to a tiny little beach - mostly rocks, and what sand there is tends to be coarse instead of ground fine. It's still lovely and quiet, very small and calm, and when I got there it was nearly at the highest of the high tide. Not quite there yet, since there was still some beach. But enough that most of the rocks that went out into the river itself were underwater. The illusion of the scope of what I was looking at caught me by surprise: I knew the water went lower than that, and I knew it went higher too, and I still couldn't help but think for a moment that this was the end of the water. An unfamiliar boundary calling the typical edges to my attention. I'm so used to not being able to get to the water it doesn't always register as itself.
But climbing down on the rocks and dipping my hand into the river, feeling water slosh over me with a strong wave, reminded me of what it is that divvies up this little part of the world.
Contact is a big thing that's easy to forget to maintain.
It was too warm for a jacket and it wasn't cold enough to want a sweatshirt. no full sun or deep cloud cover. A day of transitional feelings. There were geese hanging back from their migrations and nibbling the grass, walking with their usual unpracticed poise and well-practiced unflinching stares directed right at me. I did a little beachcombing, picking up some glass and metal bits and a fragment of a mirror, and took some time by the water to clean out my head for a little while. It's not something I can do often, but it is something I can know to value when it happens.
The little park out near Williamsburg's main drag goes out to the East River, and opens to a tiny little beach - mostly rocks, and what sand there is tends to be coarse instead of ground fine. It's still lovely and quiet, very small and calm, and when I got there it was nearly at the highest of the high tide. Not quite there yet, since there was still some beach. But enough that most of the rocks that went out into the river itself were underwater. The illusion of the scope of what I was looking at caught me by surprise: I knew the water went lower than that, and I knew it went higher too, and I still couldn't help but think for a moment that this was the end of the water. An unfamiliar boundary calling the typical edges to my attention. I'm so used to not being able to get to the water it doesn't always register as itself.
But climbing down on the rocks and dipping my hand into the river, feeling water slosh over me with a strong wave, reminded me of what it is that divvies up this little part of the world.
Contact is a big thing that's easy to forget to maintain.
It was too warm for a jacket and it wasn't cold enough to want a sweatshirt. no full sun or deep cloud cover. A day of transitional feelings. There were geese hanging back from their migrations and nibbling the grass, walking with their usual unpracticed poise and well-practiced unflinching stares directed right at me. I did a little beachcombing, picking up some glass and metal bits and a fragment of a mirror, and took some time by the water to clean out my head for a little while. It's not something I can do often, but it is something I can know to value when it happens.
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