Do you ever get these little ditties stuck in your head that won’t leave for years and years? I do. There’s a line I heard once that runs through my head with shocking frequency, “Love is patient, love is kind. Love means slowly losing your mind.” Why it has stuck is anyone’s guess, but it pops in at the most random and inopportune moments to say hello. There’s another one that’s slightly less morbid that often comes to mind as well; it’s a nursery rhyme from a poem book I grew up on.
“One misty moisty morning
When cloudy was the weather,
I met a little man
All dressed in leather.
He began to compliment,
And I began to grin.
“How do you do?” and
“How do you do?” and
“How do you do?” again.
Maybe that rhyme has something to do with my forever love of fog, I don’t know, but whatever the case, when one evening recently I found the city settling down under a mysterious sort of cloud, I simply had to go exploring a bit and see what the city thinks of fog. And so I set out after work, ready to walk my feet off, but first a little nourishment was required.
Willburg Cafe in Williamsburg was recommended to me by a coworker, and not without reason, it turned out. My eggs benedict were perched atop a generous slab of melty brie, and every bite was perfection as I watched the world pass by my window.
Thus fed and warmed, I set off.
When I reached the entrance to the subway, it suddenly felt like I could see two worlds simultaneously. The chilly, gray, moody, mysterious air of the city, or the warm, well-lit, slightly smelly tunnels of the underground world. Although it was tempting to keep walking, the subway won out and I boarded the noisy train.
I crossed the river to Manhattan and decided to kill a little time before heading uptown because it wasn’t quite dark yet, if indeed browsing in a bookstore with eighteen miles of books can be called killing time. I have my doubts.
On the way I saw someone who simply has to be a storybook character come to life, don’t you think? I’m pretty sure he’s a villain who lives on up a crooked flight of stairs at the very top of a spindly tower, and who rubs his bony hands together gleefully as he cooks up plans to destroy warmth and kindness in his shriveled and cold soul.
Night finally fell and the lights beckoned me uptown- millions of lights twinkling up into the clouds. The city was simply beautiful, an ethereal kind of beauty that can’t be captured with my limited camera skills, although I tried. It felt like the kind of night that anything could happen, anything at all…
Classic New York- the new and gaudy commercial right alongside the old, solemn, majestic buildings.
The Rockefeller building nearly vanished into the purple mist. It was the loveliest I’ve ever seen this city be, and I found myself spinning on the sidewalk in my red coat and twirly dress because I simply couldn’t help myself. Could you have? (Also, what else are twirly skirts for?)
Eventually earth called me back and I had to make the long trip home to my cozy bed, but still this night floats in my memory- the night New York City wrapped herself in clouds of gauze and let me glimpse her enchantments.