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The Changing Face of Brooklyn
Oct. 13th, 2006 05:38 pm[Hey, I finally figured out how everyone was doing html links. What I haven't figured out is why everyone isn't suffering from carpal tunnel syndrome. Maybe you are? Just on morphine and not copting to it?]
Woke up clinging to my bed and not wanting to face the world, but kept to initial plan - showered, ate, dressed, dried hair, put on make-up and took off on a walk. A long ambling walk where my internal demons wrestled, eventually growing tired and taking in brief glimspes of the world around me.
I'll start with the last glimpse. A moment frozen. Standing on the opposite side of Smith street, just below the overgrown and funky transit garden with its blood red sunflowers and yellowing bushes, waiting for the light to change in order to enter my own tree bordered block, a children's mural behind me on the wall of the elevated subway track, I watch a monarch butterfly frozen in midair in the intersection, just above the roofs of the cars as if it is hanging by an invisible thread. It wavers for less than a second. Long enough for my eyes to see it. Direct in my sightline. Long enough for me to forget my own struggle. I watch it push against the wind that appears from my vantage point to propell it backwards. Away from its destination or towards its doom - the onrushing traffic below. But it succeeds. It pushes past the current and flutters safely to the other side to land momentarily on the edge of the wrought iron fence encompassing the garden that sits surrounded by concrete on all sides.
I stare at it for a few moments, even though the light has changed once again and I can walk to my own home across the boundary. Such a fragile thing really: The Monarch Butterfly . Its wings made of crepe paper and its thin body, not much thicker than a twig. Black and orange viened wings, gossamer wings, move back and forth as if it were breathing or sighing. Watching its struggle reminds me of my own. Fighting a current that wishes to thrust me backwards. The people in my life sitting underneath - an onrush of traffic, anxious to race past in a direction that is neither parallel nor in the same direction of my own, but crosses the path. And like the monarch butterfly, I rest upon the other side, just a moment, before fluttering upwards, in spiraling circles towards an unknown light.
The Changing Face of Brooklyn
( a ramble on my walk around my neighborhood that I felt compelled to write about for some reason. )
Woke up clinging to my bed and not wanting to face the world, but kept to initial plan - showered, ate, dressed, dried hair, put on make-up and took off on a walk. A long ambling walk where my internal demons wrestled, eventually growing tired and taking in brief glimspes of the world around me.
I'll start with the last glimpse. A moment frozen. Standing on the opposite side of Smith street, just below the overgrown and funky transit garden with its blood red sunflowers and yellowing bushes, waiting for the light to change in order to enter my own tree bordered block, a children's mural behind me on the wall of the elevated subway track, I watch a monarch butterfly frozen in midair in the intersection, just above the roofs of the cars as if it is hanging by an invisible thread. It wavers for less than a second. Long enough for my eyes to see it. Direct in my sightline. Long enough for me to forget my own struggle. I watch it push against the wind that appears from my vantage point to propell it backwards. Away from its destination or towards its doom - the onrushing traffic below. But it succeeds. It pushes past the current and flutters safely to the other side to land momentarily on the edge of the wrought iron fence encompassing the garden that sits surrounded by concrete on all sides.
I stare at it for a few moments, even though the light has changed once again and I can walk to my own home across the boundary. Such a fragile thing really: The Monarch Butterfly . Its wings made of crepe paper and its thin body, not much thicker than a twig. Black and orange viened wings, gossamer wings, move back and forth as if it were breathing or sighing. Watching its struggle reminds me of my own. Fighting a current that wishes to thrust me backwards. The people in my life sitting underneath - an onrush of traffic, anxious to race past in a direction that is neither parallel nor in the same direction of my own, but crosses the path. And like the monarch butterfly, I rest upon the other side, just a moment, before fluttering upwards, in spiraling circles towards an unknown light.
The Changing Face of Brooklyn
( a ramble on my walk around my neighborhood that I felt compelled to write about for some reason. )
