June 22, 2007
Variations on a memory.
Words do little to describe how glad I am to be back from Manhattan.
Above, a serene photo courtesy of my Treo, from yesterday’s ferry ride back from Anacortes to Friday Harbor.
More telling than my prose.
A volcano (Mt. Baker), a boat (the Washington State Ferry) and an archipelago (the San Juan Islands) are, to my senses, a vast improvement on a skyscraper (the Marriott in which I stayed), a subway (the #6 from Lincoln Center to SoHo one evening) and a few siren- and soot-filled boroughs (New York City). But that’s just me, now. When I was growing up, I was a quintessential New Yorker who couldn’t have imagined living anywhere else. I mean, what else could there possibly be to do and see and experience that wasn’t in the greatest city in the world?
And then at 21, I left.
And my world expanded.
I still love New York the way one still loves difficult relatives.
But my heart lives here.