Echoes

It feels like being on a heaving, somewhat unstable giant. We sway and bounce. I watch the grasses bent over by the wind waves running over the field. When we are off, the patches of farm land, lined by tall narrow trees, in shades randing from dark green to brown are a picture, like patchwork on wool. When we are over the sea of clouds, a small crack reveals the landscape below again. I see the light and wish I was down there.

I reach the hotel on Times Square without delay. It is a bright day, windy day. Just right for walking. Susan Keser's playing - both her selections and renditions quite resonate with me and I sit there for a while. When I am back, the brain refuses to function from the near absence of sleep in the last 24 hours. I am not quite sure of my next step, neither of what I see before me - whether it's the stop or the walk sign - and it takes a moment to process the information. Perhaps growing old will be like this. I think my mind will wither before the body does.