Tugboats on the Hudson (a/k/a For Now)
The tugboats on the Hudson proceed at the same languid pace as ever. The New York City skyline has not disappeared. The traffic on the GWB as unforgiving as the many yesterday's before.
This morning's mountain hike greeted me as if blissfully unaware of the tectonic shift of the universe. The rocks unmoved by recent cataclysmic events. The angle of the hills not increased by our precipitous descent.
My food has no unexpected bitterness. The drink without even a hint of the taste of arsenic. The Mallomar as welcome to my taste buds as always.
How can all this be? Does not everything respond in equal measure to what just transpired? Whether or not cursed with a brain, eyes and a heart. What do they know that I don't? How can they be so calm in the midst of a catastrophic storm?
It is the human contact that exacerbates the pain, that assaults my senses. I think for the moment I will converse only with the trees, the rocks, the buildings, with anything that will not question me, not ask me to analyze or define, not demand explanations.
For now that must suffice. For now that will have to do. For now that is all that I can offer or accept. For now, I don’t know how long for now will last.