Summer has taken a hold of the city (reprise)
unusually warm day yesterday. but the coolness of spring has leveled. i hope things remain somewhat cool for a while before the heat sets in.
"Beautiful elms, English and American, Douglas Firs, birch and Hawthornes and of course, the Moses favorite London plane stood scraggly and poorly trimmed. I should not be presumptuous as to the condition of the London planes. In Paris they choose to trim them a certain way, the street side of the tree being flat with no branches hanging above the street. Here the branches are more natural, being trimmed only for practical and safety reasons.
"The walk wound me up by the reservoir. Two girls were jogging and gossiping in unison. The left one seemed to be more into the jogging part of the song. I would imagine she did not really know the girl on the right and only humored her if only to have a running partner. The reservoir seemed to be at low tide. This observation is, of course, erroneous; there is no outlet to the ocean known by me. Of course there might be one, which would lead my overall judgment to be wrong. In any case, there are several possibilities of me erring. This fact, once realized, can be used to fight evil everywhere.
"I decide to walk down the horse trail below the jogging path. It has since been used as a back road for the NYPD for park equestrian and beat patrol. Automobiles rested idly in the back of the precinct. The road would have been nicer with no people on it, or at least with shy peasant girls delivering bundles to arbitrary destinations. The overgrowth of brush amongst the many species of trees seemed peculiar. It is an artificial wilderness maintained by the city. It can be scene as a mockery towards us, humans, and our forgotten roots from the forest. I see it as an arboreal art form. Squirrels scampered here and there, disappearing farther along the road. When the point of disappearance is finally reached no small rodent is ever seen.
"The eastside emerged only a couple of minutes before my exiting of the park. Central Park is a modern marvel. Forested areas tucked away between posh residencies, tourist areas and poorer building projects carry nostalgia for those who are perceptive. My feet meandered along the path of east-siders content with their seemingly mundane rituals: walking dogs, strolling in money-threads, standing outside their buildings’ vestibules with cell phones to ears, haling hailed taxis. I would occasionally pass those curious outer-borough folk who are known to the residence here by various rapid transit coined colloquialisms. 103rd St. came upon the Ponies, moist from perspiration. Trekking continued eastwards. The contour of the land changed from being flat to somewhat dangerously hilly. A trestle emerged after a row of building projects, the Metro-North speeding to Grand Central atop medieval arches. Park Ave. precedes Lexington. I am sure Purchas had at one point meant for his accounts to change the world. “This small ash has been superceded by a larger hornbeam of the mightiest stature,” I imagined he would say in if such a sight were before him.
"The street signs on Lexington Ave. read “NO PARKING” very defiantly, unquestionably due to the steepness of the streets. Garbage pick-up must be a bitch. The subway station at 103 was narrow and warm. The area was above the Upper Eastside and Yorkville. I now wonder about the area slightly over from the ritz that is the Museum Mile, seeing several “Associated” grocery chains within walking distance, the George Washington Carver housing projects, the campy stylings of Kool-Man ice cream trucks. It may be Carnegie Hill. The city keeps reminding me of impoverished ancestry with modern, though esoteric, aesthetics."
"Beautiful elms, English and American, Douglas Firs, birch and Hawthornes and of course, the Moses favorite London plane stood scraggly and poorly trimmed. I should not be presumptuous as to the condition of the London planes. In Paris they choose to trim them a certain way, the street side of the tree being flat with no branches hanging above the street. Here the branches are more natural, being trimmed only for practical and safety reasons.
"The walk wound me up by the reservoir. Two girls were jogging and gossiping in unison. The left one seemed to be more into the jogging part of the song. I would imagine she did not really know the girl on the right and only humored her if only to have a running partner. The reservoir seemed to be at low tide. This observation is, of course, erroneous; there is no outlet to the ocean known by me. Of course there might be one, which would lead my overall judgment to be wrong. In any case, there are several possibilities of me erring. This fact, once realized, can be used to fight evil everywhere.
"I decide to walk down the horse trail below the jogging path. It has since been used as a back road for the NYPD for park equestrian and beat patrol. Automobiles rested idly in the back of the precinct. The road would have been nicer with no people on it, or at least with shy peasant girls delivering bundles to arbitrary destinations. The overgrowth of brush amongst the many species of trees seemed peculiar. It is an artificial wilderness maintained by the city. It can be scene as a mockery towards us, humans, and our forgotten roots from the forest. I see it as an arboreal art form. Squirrels scampered here and there, disappearing farther along the road. When the point of disappearance is finally reached no small rodent is ever seen.
"The eastside emerged only a couple of minutes before my exiting of the park. Central Park is a modern marvel. Forested areas tucked away between posh residencies, tourist areas and poorer building projects carry nostalgia for those who are perceptive. My feet meandered along the path of east-siders content with their seemingly mundane rituals: walking dogs, strolling in money-threads, standing outside their buildings’ vestibules with cell phones to ears, haling hailed taxis. I would occasionally pass those curious outer-borough folk who are known to the residence here by various rapid transit coined colloquialisms. 103rd St. came upon the Ponies, moist from perspiration. Trekking continued eastwards. The contour of the land changed from being flat to somewhat dangerously hilly. A trestle emerged after a row of building projects, the Metro-North speeding to Grand Central atop medieval arches. Park Ave. precedes Lexington. I am sure Purchas had at one point meant for his accounts to change the world. “This small ash has been superceded by a larger hornbeam of the mightiest stature,” I imagined he would say in if such a sight were before him.
"The street signs on Lexington Ave. read “NO PARKING” very defiantly, unquestionably due to the steepness of the streets. Garbage pick-up must be a bitch. The subway station at 103 was narrow and warm. The area was above the Upper Eastside and Yorkville. I now wonder about the area slightly over from the ritz that is the Museum Mile, seeing several “Associated” grocery chains within walking distance, the George Washington Carver housing projects, the campy stylings of Kool-Man ice cream trucks. It may be Carnegie Hill. The city keeps reminding me of impoverished ancestry with modern, though esoteric, aesthetics."
posted by rada at 4:54 PM
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