Tonight I go to the Metropolitan Museum with a friend. We see Francis Bacon, we see Michelangelo's first painting, and we see Vermeer and Rembrandt. Then we go to the American Wing and look at old American rooms with old furniture. After that we sit in the cafe and drink wine, nibble on various museum food and watch the light descend through the multi-paned, glass, canted ceiling; various sculptures posed below. We go out into the still-light evening and take a bus across town and I take the subway downtown. In between all of this we talk and talk.
Could I kiss the sidewalk and tell the city how much I love it?
Meanwhile over Central Park--the light dazzles the edges of darkening trees as the streelights come on--I know this because I've walked through as it happens--not tonight, but still I'm aware of it even as I rush underground sitting close to strangers, but not quite (strangers-they live here, too).
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2 comments:
I could live there. I haven't been in years, and the place sometimes intimidated Southerner, me. But I am always amazed by NYC.
This is often how I feel about London. I swing between absolute love and absolute hatred. Kiss the pavement Mia, before you kick it!
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