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| Low pressure bites New York. October ogles trees dwarfed by stone and brick, window and iron, copper gone green, leaves gone copper. A metallic light rattles the park, the colors
a lunch reminder : split pea soup and fresh bread, o.j. and mocha at a communal table where nobody spoke to their neighbor, intent on today's Times, a sandwich, the changing light.
Central park holds the city at bay, a rectilinear island of thinning shade, the zoo, its panther, those glacial rocks just blocks away, but the path leads past fifty newly wed Asian couples
photographers ping-ponging from red satin kimono to white gown, attire unbound in a reflecting pool; past grassy areas where, despite the bite, a lone bather catches the sun's low
angle. Near this spot, on a warmer day, two gods bladed by, gold and honey hair windblown, T-shirts tucked like tails in their shorts, light stuck on torsos and calves, motion
all muscle and round despite their height. Imagine the sun smitten, chasing men through the park, her touch pried off by shadows : a leaf, a branch, a light pole. On the IMAGINE
memorial, a red carnation slices the IMA, petals darkened in mauve blocks, a boot's tread. Pigeons people the paths. A sudden sense of scale wells up, surrounded by city
that is not city, city that has no sound, its silence asleep under the benches' empty newspapers, in the swing, slide, and spin of the quiet playground. No vendors or amateur artists
line Museum Mile. A dark au pair walks a blond child : sexless head of curls a bob alongside the empty stroller. They pause : two museum guards hoist the American flag back
to full mast despite the fact it is a Monday. Odd to think a museum needs rest, contents always at rest the city that makes a museum run at rest. The guards rush a rusty shopping
cart from pole to pole, flags folded in a heap, red, white and blue next to blue, white and orange, museum insignia crushed against stars. On an orange ladder, a man in tan overalls unties
a maroon exhibition banner; strings flap, a sudden gap between columns overwhelms the short angles between guards, ladder man, blond child, well-dressed nanny. Me.
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