It amazes me what I can learn and where I can learn it in New York.
On the Uptown 1 this evening, I noticed a guy who sat reading his iPad and massaging his gums with his finger. I did not watch long. Not a pretty sight.
As I turned away, I realized how foolish I had been.
I had always seen the subway as a means of transportation.
Silly me.
It is actually a moving self-care-based dental facility.
See you along the Trail.
Filed under Travel
Headphones surrounding her ears
like metal rubber earmuffs,
she leaned her head against the car wall,
eyes securely shut.
Seeking sleep?
Pursuing escape from the noise of the 1 train?
Concentrating?
The train jerked to a stop at 79th;
her eyes fluttered and opened.
For an instant, our eyes connected.
I smiled.
I always smile.
For an instant,
an even briefer instant,
a nano-instant?
a tiny smile danced across her face until,
as if she realized what she was doing,
the smile turned wry,
she squeezed her eyes tightly shut,
and sank further into her seat.
I looked away as the train pulled from the station.
3 February 2012
Shire on the Hudson
Filed under Poem
The doors open when
the number three train
grinds to a stop in Times Square.
Passengers pile out,
passengers pile on the cars,
filling the lungs of the train.
After the exchange, refreshed,
the train pulls from the station,
resuming its uptown journey.
15 November 2011
Times Square
Filed under Poem
I had never been there before –
not that I have all that much experience,
but I do ride the subway regularly –
I have done so since I have been in New York.
I prefer it to the bus
or even a cab (unless I am carrying a lot of stuff).
So that’s kind of often,
yet not all that much,
but nowhere in those trips,
however many,
however few,
have I ever done
what I did today.
On a homeward journey,
I hurried down the steps in Grand Central
to find, sitting in the station, a number 3 train –
clearly about to depart,
nonetheless prepared to receive boarders.
I did. Into the lead car, I slipped.
The doors closed, and were caught
by a privileged child with his umbrella and a sneer.
They reopened and a number of travelers poured in.
They drove me, gently I admit,
but relentlessly drove,
to the front of the train. The very front.
Never having been there before,
a moment passed before I realized the view;
when I did, it grabbed me; I became entranced –
watching red, blue, green, white, yellow –
flashing colors of light,
girders blurring on the side,
the track disappearing under the train.
I moved closer to the window;
watching a fantastic world,
only tearing myself away
from the view at the front of the train
when I feared I would miss my stop.
Shire on the Hudson
17 October 2011
Filed under Photo
Faithfully, patiently, his black eyes sat between his feet.
His white hair, lightly, very lightly peppered hung over his shirt collar.
oblivious to the passengers who looked them over carefully,
his thumb flicked open his watch to learn the time.
The train slowed as it approached the station; his eyes stood
on all four legs, certain this was the stop; he patted a haunch,
spoke softly, and shortened the leash; his eyes sat back down.
When the train squealed to halt, they rose, and together departed.
Downtown 3 Train
17 October 2011
Filed under Poem
Something different happened when I left the office tonight. Well at least different from the previous two nights.
It was not raining. I simply note that. I am not complaining about the rain.
Places are desperate for rain. Children of God are dying, in part because of drought.
The simple reality is that for last two nights I and many other New Yorkers have made our ways home in the rain; others have endured the rain because they had to work or because they had no place to take shelter.
Tonight, it was overcast and damp when I stepped outside. But not precipitating.
This led to an interesting conversation:
When I was a child, I used to believe that the rain was God crying. That’s what my mother said. And I believed her.
Maybe, I said. We certainly give God enough reasons to cry. Look at how we treat each other, what we do to each other.
We do. We do.
We bid each other good-bye and I headed on toward the train.
And then the obvious flaw in that idea occurred to me:
If raindrops are God’s tears, it would never stop raining.
See you along the Trail.
Filed under Photo
The train jerked to as stop as it
entered the 72nd Street station.
He prepared to stand,
our eyes met for a New York instant.
I smiled reflexively,
he looked back perplexedly.
Averting his eyes,
he gripped the pole,
pulled himself to his feet,
and left the car.
31 August 2011
Shire on the Hudson
Filed under Poem
Filed under Photo
Sun
rain
sleet
hail
snow
all forms of weather
greet us on the trail
21 February 2011
New York City
Filed under Photo
Along the Graybeard Trail 
