Riding MetroNorth. With a moment.

The moment, this moment has been orbiting. Gently closing in, then dimming, and working itself softly back into consciousness.

Millions of thoughts slide in and out – – moments of significance, yet these seeds on the blooming dandelion blow away. This ordinary moment hangs on. Why?

She met me in the hallway in front of the elevators. We were both finishing our day. She looked fresher, wearing a blue skirt and jacket, standing with a colleague – offering up a “Hey, Dad.”

It’s early evening in Midtown. The humidity, stifling. Crowds are milling around the theatre ticket booths. Father and Daughter are out of the building looking to catch the 6:49.

We reach a “Don’t Walk” and I point down to 47th. She tugs at my suit jacket.

“Dad, I’ve timed it. It’s not faster to zig-zag. Just wait. Take it straight down. It’s faster.”

She’s timed it. It’s faster.

‘Manic blood runs thick.’

Her Dad’s a fast walker, but she’s setting the pace.  And in flip-flops. I hear my breath. My footsteps. The slapping of her flip-flops on the concrete. She’s cutting through the mingling tourists, and scooting around the shop owners in the Jewelry district, who are getting air and blowing smoke rings, which seem to hang suspended. I wipe my brow, close the gap and catch her. We reach another “Don’t Walk.” And wait.

She’s talking about her day. She’s one month in. College behind her. Now, it’s Work. Projects. Presentations. Peers.

‘From the bowery to the brimstone.’

She continues as we enter Grand Central Station and find our seat on the train. Her Pressure. Her Worry. Her Anxiety. Her Exhaustion.

‘The basement lies within us, the fear comes through the door.’

She stops. Then opens her book and starts to read. The train pulls out of the station. She falls asleep with the rocking motion, her head leaning against the window.

I’m watching her. She’s still. Quiet. At Peace.

‘Here’s a chance to make a choice, are you aware of the fire beneath your feet?
1 2 3 Nothings for free 4 5 6
Pick up the sticks and go home.’

My Girl, she’s grown up just like me.



  1. Beautiful piece. She has grown up.


  2. it sounds like she has, i see many parallels, beginning with the weariness of the day and then the timing of the fastest walking route and onward.


  3. I loved this..I used to commute to the city with my dad, and those memories are cherished ones. She will cherish these too – as the train rocks her to sleep and the comfort of your presence permits her to let the day go,,


  4. My blood pressure went up just taking this trip with you. City life!!! It’s not for me.


  5. I truly love your personal posts – and the joy that your children bring to your life, David. Thank you for sharing.


  6. “Millions of thoughts slide in and out – – moments of significance, yet these seeds on the blooming dandelion blow away. This ordinary moment hangs on. Why?” Beautiful……


  7. Why? Probably because it evokes deep emotions of familiarity and change, and of letting go and holding close at the same time? Wonderful.


  8. It’s a tough, emotional thing…seeing our kids all grown up, knowing their childhood is behind them, knowing they are now fully entrenched within this world.


  9. This is a beautiful, ‘Cats In The Cradle’ moment, one to cherish just because.


  10. This is shimmering…. The press of the crowds, the weight of the day, the comfort of family, the lull of the train’s motion, the treasuring of a simple moment shared. Pitch perfect….


  11. Two of You? I don’t know if even Manhattan is ready for that.


  12. Ah, that’s really beautiful David! Reminds me of me and my Dad many years ago. Those small moments of life are the most precious ones. 🙂


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