Thursday Morning:

New York, NY - Peter - Thursday, June 27th, 2002 : goo

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There's a certain continuity that I've grown appreciatively fond of; weather patterns, seasonal flux and the passing of days.

Were the world steered by my tastes, I would ramble on abstractly about the hours ticking by, skies adrift with clouds moving slowly between the parallel rivers that frame my city; I'd indulge myself in an endless stream of words, each syllable uttering some sparkly commentary on the moment in which it was conceived.

Thats the way I am. So, it comes with some profound self-awareness when I encounter one of those strings of moments where everything seems in place, where time ticks by synchronously.

For the distance of one city block, this morning, it was as if time stopped... or at least slowed to some pedagogical pace that allowed me to fully flesh out each moment. As I walked along, I felt oddly rested for such an early hour. I discovered that my mind was completely still- as opposed to the typical whirls of day-planning and schedule wrangling that usually sift through it at that time.

The winds flowed in straight behind me, East River-bound, and moved at my exact pace making contact with my skin in such a way that it felt like I was standing still. The dusky sunrise was bright enough with morning haze, but not yet so summer-searing as to make it unpleasant. The air expanded around me, seemingly at my exact body temperature, blurring the interface between my exposed skin and the day developing around me. The city noises were quieted to a muffled hum, and I was aware of the uncanny silence surrounding.

Although I can't conjure proper words to tag this feeling, this section of morning history that just transpired on 72nd street between York Avenue and the river, it truly injected some immediate and redeeming moment into my otherwise blandly work-filled day. It never fails to thrill me when something so simple and sublime impacts me like this.

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