In my soul (apologies to WV, Philly and Sharon, MA) it is my hometown. Have never lived there and rarely spent more than a couple of weeks. But still it remains anchored in me as if I'd been growing-up down the street from my own Mom and Dad. Needless to say, the city holds many memories for me and this is what I wrote on my most recent visit, this past Saturday.
Untitled
New York is straight to the point. A sea of yellow flying down 5th Avenue as arms and words thrust into the air. It's bodies twisted in and out on the subway, being ever so careful not to touch. New York is art and cultures colliding. It's young and old, naive and cynical sharing sidewalk space crowded with the merely curious, onlookers. It's the individual and the commercial meshed side by side. New York is knick knacks, beauty supplies, electronics, coffee shops—oh cafes—alongside red-bricked grace and hope. It's kids in strollers, on Razors in the park and on foot yelling loudly over the murmuring motors, the honking horns, the blaring sirens. New York is buildings forever reaching toward the sky. Architectural gems transfixing the eye. It's all non-stop. It's New York.
That's it, just thought I'd share.
And I'm listening to:
Liszt: Weinen, Klagen, Sorgen, Zagen (Prelude, based on a theme from Bach's Cantata No from the album “Horowitz: The Last Recording” by Vladimir Horowitz