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Just shooting the poop with Lori |
| I am back from New York and I must say that I could fill a book with my impressions of this great city. It seemed as if there were a story hiding in the face of every person I encountered. I wanted so much to ask both the visitors and the true New Yorker's how they came to be in this city. I caught myself making up stories in my head to fit the narrative of who I thought they were. From the street performer to the vendor pushing the cart, to the strolling patrons of Central Park and the artist drawing on his canvas, to the energetic businessman eager to catch his train and the homeless wanderer in the street, I couldn't help but paint my own picture and wonder if their truth laid anywhere within my thoughts I also couldn't help but feel insignificant when I stood between two high rises and looked up toward the sky with an inescapable feeling of awe transcending upon me. The design of each structure spoke of fortitude and beauty. I was inundated with the sounds of the city, as well. The city held a constant array of beeps whistles, voices, music, steam blowing, laughter, and the passions of life. I found this overwhelming at times, but mostly it infused my spirit. It is good to be home, but part of me misses the enchantment of this fun city. I now understand my daughter's desire to move there. |
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