Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Because I can't RSS feed, podcast, record, e-mail, blogroll, text, post, download, photograph, chat, hyperlink, attach, map, bookmark, or embed a scent - the scent on the air tonight - I'm forced to use words to say, blessedly, there are still so many things that one just has to be there for. Running, the just-washed air vibrated with grass and flowers, and a big golden moon, like a cat's-eye marble, shone down on the BQE.

I ran by the dove on Berry and 13th:

And I felt like a warrior, listening to Irish battle songs in air that smelled like Ranelagh (Williamsburg/Greenpoint is magical for embodying so many of the places I love in this world: see Ranelagh photo below, on the Grand Canal, freely associated with Patrick Kavanagh, who loved it) - while everything felt like peace.

"O commemorate me where there is water,
Canal water, preferably, so stilly
Greeny at the heart of summer."
- Patrick Kavanagh

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