On our last night in New York we took a sail boat ride out into the Hudson River, just about sunset. I wrapped my bare legs in a green blanket and my hands around a glass of champagne and watched the city get further away and come into view in the way only a city can. Once out in the river they cut the engine and raised the sails, and we watched the Statue of Liberty approach, the sky ringed in rainbow, silence all around. I could have moved, I guess, walked around the boat and looked at all the angles, but it seemed like a better idea to stay part of the stillness and the quiet.
From the water, all the lights in all the windows kept their secrets.
On a rooftop visible out the window of our rented apartment stood some kind of statue, arms raised above its head. We probably could have guessed at its location and gone looking to find out what it was, but I like to think that it wasn't a statue, that it was someone who lives in the building regularly taking to the roof and greeting the sky.
From the water, all the lights in all the windows kept their secrets.
On a rooftop visible out the window of our rented apartment stood some kind of statue, arms raised above its head. We probably could have guessed at its location and gone looking to find out what it was, but I like to think that it wasn't a statue, that it was someone who lives in the building regularly taking to the roof and greeting the sky.
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