Not in New York any more

Another Portland busker shot. I look at it and sigh. It doesn't thrill me. It's Matt with his home-made didgeridoo, his Tibetan singing bowls, his harmonium and castanets; and it's Sarah, his buddy, playing back-up cello while a Portland dad pushes his baby toward the vibrations. I'm still coming down from the thrill of being in New York, and my eyes are still following LeeAnne's journey with envy, reluctant to be back at home. I look at Matt and Sarah, at all the space they take up on the corner, at the slow traffic around them and the open spaces in the street, and I know I'm not in New York any more. I love my little city with its falling cherry blossoms and new green leaves, and my eyes and energies will adjust...but oh, it was lovely to be in New York, to meet Guinea Pig Zero and to see Giacomo, to stroll the Lower East Side with Devorah, to see the work of Chim and Vishniac, to remember Vivian Maier and to see what she saw, and to feel the energy of all those people and their dreams and ambitions.