2017 February

A snow day.

Eight inches and more.

Everyone took a snow day.

The white snow covered all of Fort Greene.

I traveled north to Catskill on the Hudson.

Every miles brought me to the grasp of winter.

The Hudson River flowed in the light of the setting sun.

Charlotta met me at the station and we drove across the Rip Van Winkle Bride to the town of Catskill.

The sun shone bright in the morning.

Especially at Thomas Cole’s Studio.

The view from his porch is timeless.

Charlotta’s house needed a little work.

I needed work too.

I love listening to the trains heading south, until I realized they were carrying fracked oil.

Still in the quiet of the night I pretended it was 1969.

I stayed like the snow.

A week.

Two weeks.

Happy to be out of the city, but all good things come to an end even in the cold.

And I took the train back to New York.

No one had noticed my absence.

The city only exists on the living.

And I have lived.

And outlived others.


Only few can ride the trash train.

Not the dead, but the living.

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