Kass commented on the previous blog that I kind of miss New York. Oh, yes! I have moved to a different world. This world is good too but it doesn't cancel all I loved about New York. My morning has started wonderfully with an acceptance by a poetry online journal of a set of poems I wrote called "7th and 8:00". Several poems describe the few minutes I spent day after day, week after week, walking from the subway at 7th Avenue and 23rd Street, two blocks south to 21st Street where I worked. In less than five minutes a day I observed a rich and varied street life the like of which I suspect exists nowhere else in the US. Here is one of the poems about an experience I had nearly every morning.
The New Seller
Invisible Oriental incense surrounds a new aluminum kiosk, a miasma of Dehli reds, Jodpur pinks, temple bronze, Himalayan mauves. The Indian news seller purifies and blesses his tiny domain to gain his share of the dream of American prosperity, invoking daily the hopes that brought him across the sea.
I pass by and rarely stop, rarely buy but breathe the complex scent and feel my day is blessed by his belief. My cynicism curls and crumbles like the ash of his incense sticks.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!