What Kind Of Clouds?

Is it fog?  Or is it smoke?

When it swirls around the arches of a bridge, I think most people would say it's fog.

But when it's at the Gate of Hell--or Hell Gate--it seems more like smoke.

But what about when it drifts over the city

or clouds the view of the prison?

Whatever you call it, I have pedaled through fog and smoke on my way to work.

Imprisoned In The Mist

I must say, I am really enjoying my morning commutes, now that I go through Randall's Island.  Even the knowledge of what lies beyond does not dampen (pardon the pun) my mood.

In this case, beyond that flock of geese--who are free to go wherever they like--and the fog are the most un-free people in this city.  Yes, Rikers Island is shrouded in that scrim of mist!

Well, almost:  It's hard not to feel down--no, let's say it, angry--when thinking about that place now, during Black History Month.  Instead of slave ships pulling into the harbor (Slavery was legal in New York until 1827.), black people--mostly young and male--are locked up on an island.

I channeled some of that anger into my pedals. And, I assure you, it goes into other kinds of activity!