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River to sky.
Last Saturday night I thought I hallucinated a gazebo. I'd gone out to dinner with my brother so I'd had a bit to drink and afterwords, when I looked out the window at the night sky, I thought that the bright, round shape was just a gazebo on a nearby rooftop. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn't in the right spot to be on a roof. The I looked again and saw it was moving.
The point I started staring was right when it disappeared behind a water tower. I didn't stop to put on sandals to get up to the roof, and with a view up the Hudson to the George Washington Bridge I could see it was a blimp, not a gazebo, and how I was able to make that mistake sitting at my desk several floors below.
Today I took an afternoon walk to escape work for a while that took me to a nearby park, still fresh and wet from all the rain yesterday. The blackberries had been picked over already, but that was fine, because I didn't stop for the berries: I stopped to close my eyes and take in the smell. I knew that smell. The smell of new blackberry leaves by a river with wet dirt all about is something I smelled a few times in California, biking out to a creek past the edge of town to peek into a little bit of wild and grasp a horizon line and hoping I hadn't gotten there too late for any of the berries. Even though I was late for blackberries today, I got a few mulberries for my troubles, and even spotted one of the peregrine falcons when I left work at the end of the day.
It's worth it to take a second look.
The point I started staring was right when it disappeared behind a water tower. I didn't stop to put on sandals to get up to the roof, and with a view up the Hudson to the George Washington Bridge I could see it was a blimp, not a gazebo, and how I was able to make that mistake sitting at my desk several floors below.
Today I took an afternoon walk to escape work for a while that took me to a nearby park, still fresh and wet from all the rain yesterday. The blackberries had been picked over already, but that was fine, because I didn't stop for the berries: I stopped to close my eyes and take in the smell. I knew that smell. The smell of new blackberry leaves by a river with wet dirt all about is something I smelled a few times in California, biking out to a creek past the edge of town to peek into a little bit of wild and grasp a horizon line and hoping I hadn't gotten there too late for any of the berries. Even though I was late for blackberries today, I got a few mulberries for my troubles, and even spotted one of the peregrine falcons when I left work at the end of the day.
It's worth it to take a second look.
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