Last night I ran out of my house for a glimpse of life and beauty.
Leases signed, my last two apartments rented,
I sprinted down West 4th Street as fast as I could go.
The High Line, that once desolate stretch of abandoned railroad track
Turned city park in all its leafy finery,
Had once again reopened and there I was,
Timed ticket in hand,
Ready to get scanned and temperature checked,
Out of breath from jogging up the stairs in a suffocating mask,
With only thirty minutes to follow the yellow dots in the middle of a boardwalk surrounded by wildy swaying trees and grasses,
To snap a photo of the sunset glowing orange through clouds floating over the Hudson,
To gaze at empty offices and apartments on either side and wonder where all the people went,
To admire the majestic Hudson Yards glittering in the distance,
To marvel at the colorful murals and sculptures
And, then, to run down the steps at 23rd Street because that was as far as they would let us go.
I came to see the High Line back in March the day before the City shut it down.
I felt as if the walls of death were closing in upon me and I had to go and see it one last time.
Last night, I came back with a new perspective --
To gorge on life and beauty in all its riotous laughter
And to truly see the High Line for the very first time.
July 19, 2020