Some weeks ago I went to Floyd Bennett Field and Marine Park with the Brooklyn Birding Club. Apart from the mad journey of getting there, hiking…
Thanks to an unlikely spring day in New York, I spent my Sunday afternoon roaming the West Village. I walked from loud to quiet pocket streets, sometimes getting lost, but eventually making sense of all the sights and sounds.
I find myself rummaging through old pieces of writing. Here’s one from last summer. The summer I spent on park lawns watching birds eat scraps off the floor, jugglers dancing, and blue sky whirling above me.
At first clear infinite space, but then words, images, and phrases intercept; an ongoing parade of broken fragments. After a short time, patience is gone and you give into the frivolity of a rampant conscience. I imagine the wordless peace will come with practice.