On my second day in NYC , we found ourselves rushing in a hurry towards Battery Park to catch the ferry for the statue. Once through security screening, we packed like sardines onto the boat, the seemingly tiny statue smiling down at us from the island.And then there was the swaying again– this time the gentle, familiar sway of the water–we began to head for Lady Liberty, feeling the wind in our hair and the sun on our skin.I loved the view from the boat. The buildings which appeared to sprout like giant metallic flowers from the depths of the water itself– legos put together but an ambitious and playful toddler: Their height and the city’s vastness became even clearer to me as we pulled away from it all.Then the movement of feet as we disembarked and saw that what once seemed to small from afar was in fact towering over us.The turquoise woman seemed to be guarding some invisible entrance to NYC. As we left , I noticed pennies thrown into metal boxes attached to the dock, some copper and some teal , like confetti thrown to celebrate Lady Liberty– America– And what some call Freedom. As we approached Ellis Island I tried to envision what it would of sounded like to an immigrant– Would freedom have an even gentler vibe to them or would it be a more vigorous drum beat? Even with my saddened view of what America has become, I know that there is something here I have to be glad for. They knew that also. That is why them came here, to gaze upon the sway of NYC and the declaration of Lady Liberty– Freedom and the amber flame in her hand, glinting of dreams.As we dock on last time back at Battery Park, the chaos and the same churn. I felt then as if there was something deeply wrong and yet powerful about it all.i guess sometimes we want power so bad that we become willingly to love just about anything even metal and cement and worst of all, money, even the pigeons flying around cooing, cooed of money.As we walked I wondered how did people think of this? Little things made me wonder, like cars parked on racks up high, dishes set in some odd drainer to dry.Why? and How?Later, emerging from the subway, the grim of those depths, to Central Park, was like climbing into your wardrobe and entering a whole new world where magic seemed to saturate everything in sight except the magic of Central Park was merely the lure of nature.The lure of nature that seemed so far from NYC and yet was in the center of it all. And for once in my whole time in NYC, I could breathe.
Thank you for reading and letting me know your thoughts in the comments below.
-Wishing you the brightest of days,Eva
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”