Friday, February 10, 2012
walking along 96th, towards the New York Public Library, 96th street branch, what incredible variety: on the north side, a woman of what the French call a certain age, very very very blonde hair, spreading out her trinkets, glittering in the sunlight, all aquamarine and crimson and shiny pink, dangling and sweeping over and making her joyous, it seemed. And, rushing by, a woman with a rhinestone purse of royal blue, red running shoes, and a tiny baby peeping out from a blanket she was holding
and a gush of fresh wind
how new york works and forces your love of it -- or then you leave
or, like me, you leave to do this and that, speak on this and mostly that, and return, sometimes to 96th street, towards the NYPL and its riches -- the real ones.