Time brings change, and with that comes history. You can see this very well in people, but it’s just as evident in trees. In the city, the well-designed parks are marked with pines and mulberry. Their trunks come in various sizes, and you can spot the contrast of what’s old and what’s young. There’s a story in all that web-work of branches, all of them fighting for sunlight. There’s a sort of heart there that tells of everything you weren’t able to see. A whole series of animals hide and use the wooded tents for their home. It’s the same with the framework and construction of buildings. The brownstones of Brooklyn have been around for a long while, and you can sense that they’re something magically special. An appreciation sneaks out and tickles you. You get excited.

Today, I stood only about three feet from a heron. He stood tall and looked at me, with his eyes flickering. He probably had questions about my sense of movement, the intonation of my voice. And yet he was trusting. He let me get close and observe, just as I stood and whispered nice things. There came a point when I got too close though. I broke the moment that stretched so beautifully before us, and he widened his wings and lifted up towards the sky of blue. It was a nice moment though. His fly wasn’t hurried, but graceful. 

Something about my walk home, reminded me of the Kahlil Gibran book I’m reading. The man was a soulful gentleman that rambled between being an optimist and a cynic. The treasury of his stories that I own, is even more special, because it once belonged to my grandpa Bernie. He passed away a couple months back, and my pops sent a whole box of his books in the mail. In the front cover of most of them, is an old stamp mark, revealing my grandfather’s name and profession. He was an attorney in Honolulu.

On Monday, Zachary got his hair cut. He looks more like a lion now. His hair before was longer than mine, but just splendid. I like his new look though. He went to a nearby parlor and a hipster lady was teaching an apprentice. Three gals giggled while they chopped off his virgin locks. Good vibes, definitely.

Yesterday, he met a man named Dave at an old-timer bar in Park Slope called Jackie’s. The place is closing, and it’s sad for a lot of people. This guy named Dave though, was just fantastic. Zach sat around asking him questions, and he spilled his whole life story. Before leaving, he wrote out a letter, and at the end it said: “Life is one long education!” Dave is in his early eighties, but seems like a real trooper. Any conversation that’s soulful and love-bound, is something that’ll remain important. I think we forget just how nice a sense of community is. That’s why it’s best, to make a home in everything we adore.

  • 21 August 2013
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