Walking Cross-Town. Under the Rainbow.

~ Live & Learn

rainbow-child-country-boy-running

50° F, mid-January. Shameful, I know, but if this is global warming, fill me up, give me more, take me Home to Spring.

I wait for the light to turn and look up squinting, the Sun beams warm the bones, the soul.

I cross Madison and head up 48th.

The City that never sleeps is in peripatetic flight – cabs zigzagging, buses spewing exhaust, delivery trucks unloading the day’s provisions, couriers on bikes, commuters with one foot on gas, one hand on horn, street sweepers with rotating brushes raising dust, garbage trucks with their putrid stench, shopkeepers lifting their steel grates, street vendors setting out their apples, bananas and bagels – – and thoughts.

Walking these same concrete streets in a New Year. No cake, no candles, no party hats at 10 years. Here walks an off-center screw, never quite center, never just right – and yet the hand re-grips, shredding those fine threads, tightening and tightening cross-thread. Must find Proof.

Our Stonehenge skyscrapers look down, hulking, somber, stoic and see what? A middle aged man, black coat, black shoes, black case swinging in his right hand, rushing cross-town – another New Yorker scurrying to get ahead.

The man looks up at Stonehenge as if hearing their whispers. No Stones, No. This here is the country boy, arms extended as wings, running down the dirt road, rainbow calling, a free bird.

I turn left into Times Square and millions of brilliant neon multicolor lights light up Stonehenge and the heavens. A Rainbow.

The arms are instinctively pulled up leaving their sides, searching for wings; flaps up little boy, flaps up.  And now he’s flying with McEwen: “rainbow arches across the fields, gleaming over the pale blue sky and grayish clouds, as if pointing with one delicate finger: here, you belong here.”

Where Stones?

Where?

Notes:

36 thoughts on “Walking Cross-Town. Under the Rainbow.”

  1. It has been a while since I’ve seen the word “peripatetic.” I originally learned it refering to those who followed behind Aristotle as he walked back and forth, which was his teaching style. To be safe, I looked up the modern definition, which you nailed.

    Thanks for knocking a cobweb loose, DK.

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  7. Did you just experience your “Tenth” anniversary of working in NYC?
    Perfect image and wonderful writing!
    “The man looks up at Stonehenge as if hearing their whispers. No Stones, No. This here is the country boy, arms extended as wings, running down the dirt road, rainbow calling, a free bird.”
    Dave, you are a man who’s soul craves, freedom…crying as the hawk does as he soars overhead, quiets, floating the thermals, intently scanning, diving as if to be free falling, and so in control, legs move, talons open and he snags the bull trout from the cold river just as the smothering energy of the city, entombs the cutthroat men climbing the stairs of “One” Wall Street …you could never be a Tortoise who pulls back into his shell, retreating…you never truly conform to the migrating man’s rule as they swim up the avenues, diverting into the side channels of the concrete jungle…you contribute greatly, your creative, fair mind, so wise and you bide your time, as your soul breaths in and out, spawning fertile thoughts of the freedom within…while the body peripatetic movements Monday, enduring through Friday travels the distance between the refuge of home to the city that never slows…you long to be out west, in the beautiful expanse…so glad you have that framework to carry you forward until you return where you can watch the trout near the headwaters of the Mackenzie and then travel south to Washington State to stand among the stones of “Stonehenge” memorial (look at all the images with Mt Hood in the background! https://www.google.com/search?q=washington+stonehenge&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjk__yA8cTRAhVS52MKHSqIBowQsAQIVg&biw=1024&bih=601 and then cross the mighty Columbia River to the Scared trails in the Gorge that weave along the waterfalls, winding through the Douglas Fir towering over the delicate wildflowers, taking in the beauty, breathing in the sweet air, being kissed by the waterfall mist laced with negative ions (created by streams and waterfalls feeding one’s brain)…nourishing one’s soul and then travel west to the Blue Pacific were the continent ends, in awe and the power of life’s freedom is felt…/// PS 50’s in NYC lucky, it will finally warm here mid week, think we’ve had about three days of above 32 since December 14th, so unusual…the sun is streaming through the window, the cats are both sharing the window sill and the dog is on the couch under the window all enjoying the gift of warmth…

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    1. Thank you Christie. Have passed 10 years (in this stint) and working towards 11. So many beautiful visuals in your thoughts above (Tortoise, Mt Hood, Columbia River, Douglas fir, Blue Pacific, et al). Thanks for sweeping me away Christie.

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  10. Reading this while driving home on the New Jersey Tpk (Bleh!) and the Garden State Pkwy (Bleh-squared) after driving our daughter back for her spring semester. Shortly before, gazing out the window, I saw your Stonehenge for a few seconds.
    Beautiful, evocative writing, Dave.

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  11. With stones and rocks that hold memories and wisdom that lie beneath the concrete jungle, and rainbows and boys that have wings that soar above us, then what else would we want? No need for cake and candles!! Happy 10yrs Mr K! Your writing evokes hope and the opportunity to always dream.😇

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  15. A notion came to me the other day as I puttered in paint and scissors: “I would visit New York if Kanigan showed it to me.”
    I might never impose that into reality, but it made me feel courageous just the same.

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