Finally, it’s raining.
I remember days like this, where the sun is a ceiling light behind a clouded fixture: murky light, but light, nonetheless.
And you can go outside.
I’m finding New York this time of year is more of a door-to-door city. I’m understanding the need for bodegas on every corner. I’m seeing the logic in honking like hell when traffic is stuck.
It makes even the most optimistic of us short-tempered and lethargic. Humidity, that blanket that is less like a much needed night in with hot cocoa and more like an unwelcome sudden burst of suffocation mixed with the detox of a Stella Artois induced hangover. I must admit, I could be a bit perplexed by my temporary life in Brooklyn, but really I’m more comfortable around city demographics. Still: I miss the earthiness of the countryside. (City earthiness usually has the tinge of ammonia to it.)
But today it’s raining and so the city is alive and people are out using their legs to walk rather than running up a perplexing A/C bill.
I “moved” to New York in early July, but a week in I left for California for 3 weeks. I had a heraldic 2-day return to New York and then went to Virginia for work, love, and tears. After 4 days in the city, I went this weekend to Baltimore for a wonderful 2-day pre-wedding extravaganza and henna party.
Do I live in New York?
Tell me: what qualifies as living somewhere?
Tell me: why do we try to live in a single place?
Tell me: why some people are birds, why some are bipeds, why some are tripeds or quadrupeds, why some have no legs.
Tell me: if you are a winged human, why staple-nail-drive yourself to the ground?
Even birds need homes.
So I’m nesting in New York. I’m beginning to think of “home” as the place where I’m nesting.
If you are settled on land: welcome the birds to your heart. They are fragile, but they see things from a different view, tossed by wind, sometimes ending up in places they didn’t intend. Sometimes that place happens to be in your line of sight... or your heart.