Fuses Blown

Pale skin turns pink in mere hours of sunlight. As if to make clear just how much it has been lacking. The newscasters cried out over another Great Storm, and the Hudson River piers were blissfully ignorant. The baby and I leaned against the railing and watched the ice dance. Great big blocks of it would break and then softly lap against each other as the water heaved. Out in the current, relatives swept by, leaving nothing but a soft rustling sound and the feeling that there was more fun to be had away from shore. I could have stared at the spectacle for hours.

This little child; I read a book to her about animals today and realized that it made no sense for her to learn what sound a cow makes; it will be years before she ever encounters one, yet. And still, when we came out here, and my soul reeled at wind and sky and forces of nature at work (the small sliver of nature that we do see in this city), I remembered how much we need this. We came from the earth, there is no evolving beyond that. As she slept, I stared straight into the sun and tried to remember what it is like to be alive. Finally I had to zip up my jacket, put on some gloves; dark clouds were rolling in. Later, looking out my bedroom window, I saw the snow begin to fall. Great big flakes slipped softly onto the silent New York night. The power went out. I did not.