The last day in September. Clear and bright. A playground outside Poets House.
The pool in Battery Park City reflects the high clouds.
The turquoise building being refurbished beside the Westside Highway looks thrillingly
bright, but won't be that color for long.
The Hudson is wide and dull and has New Jersey on the far side. The young man on his wave board was peaceful amidst the bobbing bits of debris. I said that the water looked warm and tempting enough to swim in -- that I knew people who had survived it as part of a triathalon. My companion was not convinced.
Scraping something off a pleasure boat.
Engaging in morally improving exercise.
After walking for at least forty minutes, we came upon an outpost of the New York Food Festival where we were urged to sample free coffee and wine and free magazines. The parmesan was so wonderful I wanted to buy some, but it had only been set out to go with the wine.
Descending from High Line we discovered a yellow grid thing on the window of the great glass elevator. I can't tell whether it makes 23rd Street look better or worse.