the city in autumn is equal parts explosion and bouquet.
it is profusion of light.
it is the soft, gray glow of saturday evenings. autumn creeping in. playing a taunting, haunting game of hide-and-seek.
it is the young jewish boys. celebrating the high holiday. dressed in fine, black suits, slightly too big. each one holding the door open for an elder. an act of reverence and honor. of youth bowing before tradition and history and all that is to come.
it is the ichabod-crane-like-trees buttressing the north side of the museum of natural history. tall and thin. bare, white trunks. high, reaching arms. silent screams to the sky.
it is the grid of streets. crossword puzzles for the feet.
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i fell in love with the city my first night back.
i saw it for its parts. and its whole. i saw it with the expanse of my back. and i saw with the crook of my elbow. i saw it with my feet and my fingers and my nose and the strands of hair just around my face.
i felt the city. and there on the blackened streets, beneath the thinning trees i offered thanks for both the odyssey and the return home.