Seven AM is about when they open the gates. By “they,” I’m referring to the NYC Parks Department and the staff that open and close the gates to over 1,700 municipal parks in the five boroughs of NYC. Every morning when I take our dog for a walk, I’m cognizant of the opening times of the two parks we frequent, and often see the staff unlocking the padlocks to the gates.
Except this morning she wasn’t quite able to open the padlocks. On a cold, wet, snowy winter morning, it’s not surprising that things freeze up sometimes: the locks, our hands, our minds.
It’s amazing how much something so small impacts us, though. One, then then two, then five dog owners started to congregate around the locked gate, all of our dogs not quite understanding why we weren’t going through. Worse, the judge with the labrador that has his own key to the gates (a perk of being a city judge, I guess), was out of town that week and wasn’t going to be coming to save us.
Not wanting to continue to wait, I left the polite but uneasy group of people temporarily waylaid from their morning ritual. We left to walk around the wet, snowy block, pausing every so often to see if the crowd was there, or left, or made it through. Out of sight, one turn around, then back, and the gates were open. Onward we went.
A few more days
A final Hi meeting
The local neighborhood bar has a quiet time between six and nine. It is a place that specializes in coffee, beer and seasonal menus. There is just enough of each for a satisfying snack and effective buzz. After the time when the laptop lids close and before the social gatherings start -- there is a sort of twilight*. Often this time is a fugitive ground rife with creative inspiration and meditative work -- of the kind that results in personal reward.*twilight may refer to civil, nautical or astronomical variety depending on your social or terrestrial condition
A man positions his mouse on the edge of his browser window. He clicks, holds and drags the viewport first left then right. The content of a video game promo micro site responds and adapts to the available space. To the man, this is more delightful than the game itself.
A man laboriously moves his piano down three levels onto the subway platform. Classic vocals and strided chords -- he played so well I swore he was blind. Oblivious to the heat on that August stage, he was most in touch with his audience -- whom he elevated with his music.
A woman should do exactly as she pleases no matter what a man may think.
As the Dalai Lama once said, "It is a time when there is much in the window, but nothing in the room."
"No one understands me," she said. Her grandmother was silent for a minute. It seemed she was searching for an answer in the star speckled sky. "But no one understands anyone in this world, darling. We are all unique. It is what gives us a sense of wonder."