(2) new four-letter
(3) word in town,
(5) one you should be wary
(8) about adding to your daily vocabulary. you most
(13) likely use it more often than you realize, it is sneaky that way.
(21) and although it’s not as disruptive as say a like or an Uhm, it can cause irreparable damage to your life.
(34) it’s the kind of word, if not used carefully, that can wreak havoc over your existence. its overuse creates disdain in others. its utterance makes you more susceptible to bad habits and ill decisions.
(34) you may find yourself being pulled in all sorts of directions, not all of them familiar or comfortable. sometimes the path will be lonely, and you may find yourself completely unrecognizable at the end.
(21) and what of that person who emerges from the fog after a battle of sheer wits and exhaustion for leading life
(13) without regard for other people’s boundaries, for claiming time as their own?
(8) time belongs to us all, does it not?
(5) Would you consider being honest,
(3) with yourself about
(2) how busy
Note: This poem is written in a Fibonacci sequence, logical math and Nature’s numbering system.
The fog rolled in with the onset of rain, enveloping the Financial District. It felt every bit like a scene in a SyFy movie, and the Oculus’ modernistic structure made it even more so. On the way back to Grove Street, I walked through the night mist; the streets eerily quiet. I emerged from the subway at Barclay’s Center to a downpour.
The sky was gunmetal gray, the rain steady.
There was no way not to get wet, the raindrops were enormous. So I walked home in the rainstorm, the shower matching a melancholic mood. By the time I got home, I was soaked to the bone.
Oh, Finn, you bewitch me as you vanish out the door on a mission for sun and soot. You start the day with your coat of cream and apricot…
I sometimes catch you in your mischievousness, dashing across the rooftops. Nimble and quick as only cats can be, I cringe when I spot your tightrope walking on the parapets.
We communicate in whistles and meows. When you finally do come home weary and tired, your coat is a hazy shade of summer gray.
This week I find myself meeting up with old friends and colleagues. I love that we are all able to stay connected and make the time to see each other in-person.
There was a time not so long ago when the in-person meetings, snail mail, and phone calls were our everyday touchpoints. Today, those touchpoints have all become virtual. We stay in the know via email, social media, SMS, and texts.
I love sending and receiving mail, and I’ve found over time that the in-person moments feel more like special occasions. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but my mind races with ideas on how we can plan more of them.
There are some places in this city that are pure magic. The New York Botanical Gardens in the Bronx is one. And this spring they are hosting “Chihuly Nights,” a twilight evening series with live music and an illumination of Dale Chihuly’s glass exhibition.
Nightfall and the first installation I see is a blue stone glass sculpture in front of the library. The idyllic scene calls to mind the Trevi Fountain in Rome and the Fontaine de l’Observatoire in Paris.
On the main pathway, I come across a starburst sea urchin of blue and white. Against the night sky, suspended in mid-air, the early summer fireflies weave amid the crystal stems, bringing to mind fairies and nymphs.
Nearer to the Visitor’s Center there is a pond of red reeds embedded in an oak tree. To my eye they resemble blood-red pitchforks, or even spears, protecting earthlings in an apocalyptic dystopian land. Although, I think I may be overdoing it on the Supergirl binge watching.
The sunset melts away, and a chill settles in. The last pieces I see are ectoplasmic and alien-like dangling from the ceiling. A vibrant yellow-green sure to give Crayola a run for its money, and a doodle octopus in shades of purple and blue.
Once I get home, I quickly fall asleep, and dream of far-off galaxies deep within the Milky Way.
It’s Tourist Day and we’re going to The Cloisters!
Now that Kinga is making a clean break for California we’re crossing off items on her “I’ve lived in New York City for 15 years and have never been to…” bucket list.
For those not in the know, The Cloisters is a museum annex of The Met Fifth Avenue located in Fort Tryon Park in the Bronx. Their collection is dedicated to the art, architecture, and gardens of medieval Europe, and the building is fashioned like an old castle and church.
We stroll circuitously through the inner buildings, from the Gothic Hall to the Boppard Room filled with floor to ceiling stained glass windows into the Unicorn Tapestries Room. There are several school trips in session, and as we wander we catch snippets of history from the docent tour guides.
Early Gothic Hall
Stained Glass Early Gothic Hall
Kinga and I were both raised Catholic–she Polish-American in Chicago, me Italian-American in Brooklyn–so much of what the tour guides are sharing is steeped in Christianity studies. It almost feels like we’re back in parochial school learning our ABCs.
Outdoors The Cloisters’ gardens are abundant with herbs, flowers, green grass. The birds are as thrilled to see the sun as we are, even if it is a bit steamy.
Me & Kinga, West Terrace selfie
We have lunch at the Tre Cloisters cafe and talk about life and finding the strength and courage to embrace change. Afterward, we stroll through Fort Tryon Park and fall into nature sharing the path with a group of high school students and their teacher. Along the trail, we spot a groundhog momma carrying her young as she tried to maneuver the foot traffic in her way.
A gentle reminder that we are all on this journey together.
Visit The Met at The Cloisters in Fort Tryon Park in-person or virtually with this interactive map.
First, I hear an incessant Lilliputian drilling.
Then, sawdust on the table.
Monday morning, I spy one solitary sentry hovering.
One week after the carpenter bee expulsion and it appears they are back.
I call Bugged Out and they return for a courtesy visit and reapply the treatment to the burrow holes, poison than a silicone seal. They check for new holes and treat those, too.
I lie in wait, ready to collect dead bees.