Killing time again at The Strand’s dollar racks. The day was the warmest in recent memory and for once I could stand on the street in a light jacket without cursing the cold. I had no interest in buying books or even really taking them off the shelves as I had only about 10 minutes to pass before meeting a friend a couple blocks up Broadway at Union Square.
When sorted by size rather than any other positive criteria, books do tend to congeal into some shade of meaning. Or perhaps the mind instinctively always promotes patterns and the reduction of noise into order.
River Road. Walking. Two utterly unrelated books about hands (one about life changing exercise regimes, the other about traditional crafts). An inevitable book about skiing by someone improbably named David Nations. Margins of Life. Burn’s Western Civilizations (plural). A rather strange medical book about ophthalmology, diseases of the eye.
It all hung together for a moment before my phone dinged and I rushed away to see a movie.
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."