Yesterday, for the first time in a week, we had more than a couple of hours with temperatures above freezing (0C or 32F). Breezy still, the day refracted hues of sea and sun stretching into, and stretching, the end of the day.
A late afternoon ride along the North Shore meant riding home into the sunset along the Malcolm X pier between Flushing and LaGuardia Airport. I think of passengers on descending flights and how some of them are coming to this city for the first time--and how the skyline they've seen in countless images is so close, but is still so far away--something as clear yet impenetrable as the window of a plane keeps it all even more distant from them, at least for the time being, than the lattice of tree limbs along the cold gray water.
Do they get to see the skyline as a reflection of the water that channeled all of us--from the Maspeth tribe to Milennial tech workers--into streets where we can get lost, or find ourselves?
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