Thursday, November 1, 2012

Peace like a river.

The storm has ended in New York and like they used to say about the month of March, it came in like a lion and out like a lamb.

The weather today is lamb like. The sky is once again bright and cerulean. The weather is described by "The New York Times" as "seasonable," a quaint reference to those times not-so-long-ago when we had seasons.

Whiskey and I were up and out this morning for a short walk along the water. The water which flooded the city. Which filled the subways. Which swept away dreams. That water was now flat and calm and flowing.

"Peace like a river ran through the city
Long past the midnight curfew
We sat starry-eyed
We were satisfied
And I remember
Misinformation followed us like a plague
Nobody knew from time to time
If the plans were changed
If the plans were changed."

Old black men on the city's payroll were feeding fallen branches into woodchippers. One handed Whiskey a particularly ambient branch, just her size, that she carried proudly as if bringing home the kill. The other was wearing a baseball cap. In type reminiscent of the movie titles from "The Godfather," his hat said "The Grandfather." I admired his wit.

The moms and their strollers were out in full force. So plentiful that they made me think of China and their "one child" policy. Men like myself were walking their dogs and the dogs were, like Whiskey, looking for sticks, or for rough-housing, or both.

The FDR Drive, three lanes northbound and three lanes south was dry. The traffic was sparse leaving the city and bumper to bumper going south. You could see cars flashing their blinkers and changing lanes to gain a foot or a yard. But they were nonetheless moving slower than walking speed. York Avenue, too, the next street in from the drive, similarly bi-directional was similarly trafficked. Southbound vehicles might as well have been stuck in concrete.

Wiser commuters were taking the subway, which incredibly was pumped out and running, at least as far south as 42nd Street. The buses, the world's slowest form of mass-transit, were moving too. Lumbering like a fat man with a nail in his shoe.

That's New York today.

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