Celery Farm December 14, 2017

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December's child

A proverbial picture of innocence

Arms outstretched expressing pure delight

Looking up into the myriad snowflakes falling

Letting the cold wet points land on his face

I am inside keeping warm looking out at him

Playing in the side yard across the street

He does not see me watching him

Remembering other first snowfalls of the year.

Quiet descended upon this Saturday

A time to read and reflect and enjoy the beauty

Falling crystals in the still air floating down

Heralding the unofficial start of winter.

As we wait for the precipitation to pass

Housebound on the Sabbath as if observant

As if the weather is an act of God

We welcome this opportunity for a respite day.

The boy knows nothing of the cares of the world

Bundled up in the happiness of early childhood

His moment of joy there for us to behold and embrace

A gift to us given effortlessly unaware of our eyes.

First Snowfall December 9, 2017

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December NYC 2017

The early morning bright sun slants across the platform

Illuminating the silent commuters waiting for the train

Such a throwback scene to set my thoughts wandering

Thinking of all the people who have stood here before.

The train ride is pleasantly smooth unlike the lurching bus

And so affordable these days since I get senior half fare

But in the quiet car the passengers announce their presence

Filling the air with constant coughs and sniffles.

Looking out the window at low tide in the meadowlands

Tracking past yellow marsh grass and black brown mud exposed

Natural curves of drainage streams bridged by steel angles

Crossing the wetlands where as yet open space remains.

Soon after we enter the dark nineteenth century tunnel

When the train clangs its warning bell waking the dream riders

Announcing our destination soon to be at the end of the line

Emerging to run on parallel tracks with our contemporary arrivals.

Everyone stands when the train finally stops, waiting our turn

To step into the flood of foot traffic leaving the station

Where I split off to take a moment to admire the waiting room

And take a quick look at the changes to the Hoboken waterfront.

Gone is the giant Maxwell House neon sign by the factory

Seen like a beacon across the river in my Manhattan years

Replaced by upscale high rise residences and trendy night life

Drawing the weekend youth who turn this trip into a party train ride.

Not knowing what this new day will bring

Traveling from there to here transports me suspended

From then to now I return again to a different city

Belonging to the people who frequent the place today.

Standing still in the full PATH train under the river

Waiting to proceed in the morning rush congestion

Looking into the mostly young faces around me

Looking away if they look back.

Funneled in a mass to the Fourteenth Street station exit stairs

Percolating up slowly we merge and emerge

Greeted with the sounds and smells and sights of New York

Including a patina of red and orange leaves strewn underfoot.

In the middle of the sidewalk a large full suitcase

Left unattended in the cold raises a question

And a man stops by it and looks around wondering

What is the back story how this came to be here.

The cop directing traffic at Fifth Avenue is unaware

The security guard at the corner of University knows not

The traffic patrol car coming up University likewise

And there is no need to do anything.