Not to be observant
When in a sea of humanity. One might unknowingly miss
On the corner of Waverly and 7th Avenue.
A two-bodied beast locked in unity,
The mysterious case of the missing workmen,
The end of denim jeans,
A worn-out speed demon,
A royal prince.
And the kitty crown on a leash, window shopping at the jewelry store.
Keep your eyes open, your heart too, and witness the wonders before you. That’s what I do every time I walk out the door on this tiny island. You can see how it’s paid off: with more amusements, and many more to come.
Gazers at the Guggenheim exhibit of James Terrell’s “Aten Reign”
He plays with light and space, in this case, saturation in a transformed museum.
The Rotunda turns in planetary discs,
Concave meditations on femininity one minute,
Convex shells the next.
Every color had a distinct effect, and this one made me vibrate. Not my favorite, nor the most comfortable of them all, but it felt like therapeutic, green being the color associated with the heart. Go experience which one gets you. It’s well worth the lines and crowds. They are part of the beauty. The feeling is one of you, the others, and the universe as one.
In the midst of it all, there must be some amusement, and where else but to find it than the streets of New York.
With all its personality and foibles,
is represented, even on a day when the doors are locked.
The key to living here is to keep your eyes open for the vital expressions of creative individuality. They’re everywhere.
We have bearded ladies,
The South of France on a West Village street,
Smiling sharks in Grand Central,
Noodles and wedding dresses to be had in one stop,
A proscenium storefront psychic with a menu of services on a music stand,
And a unique relationship to space.
New Yorkers, as tender tendrils of humanity, reach for the stars.
And behind every closed door, mystery and beauty exist in lives lived to the fullest, sometimes to the loneliest degrees. When it gets too tight inside, one only has to walk on the street and open their eyes to find a reason to smile, even on the twelfth anniversary of September 11th.
Today’s stroll spoke of endings in closed cafes and quiet streets,
Of vacation being officially over.
Farewell to sun and summer,
And sitting on the plaza.
With pending doom from the Flatiron Building in an ominous sky,
I reached for pink in mounds of mum,
The color of the last hurrah.
Goodbye sweet summer.
‘It’s been real,’ as my mother would say. In some cases, to real to bear.
Approaching fall a tad worse for wear, life goes on and I’m going with it.