Light
December 30th, 2001I ran last night, up and down the streets of brownstone Brooklyn, and got home just as the sunlight began to turn orange and red. The whole neighborhood stopped to watch the sunset; the dishwashers from the restaurant across the street came out for a smoke break, and the dry cleaner watched from his shop on the corner.
The light in this borough is extraordinary. It was not until I visited my childhood home last summer and remembered the beautiful quality of that light, that I realized how distinct the light in my new home is.
Michigan light is a drippy, lazy, and honey colored. Brooklyn light is demanding, intense and bold.
Michigan light is like listening to Van Morrison as you drive through the country. Brooklyn light is like listening to Monk while your blade through the park.
I was running up and down the streets of Brooklyn because a friend has convinced me that we should try to run the 2003 NYC marathon. The thought had been bouncing around in the back of my head, and she pushed it forward.
I need a big project.