Whimsy

Riding over the bridge tonight on my way out to dinner, I looked across at the Empire State lit blue and white, at all the sparkling tinkertoy towers, and I thought, on the face of it, my life might be just a little bit glamorous.

The reality of it is no different than anyone else's daily drudgery, and I never usually think this way, but looking at the bare outlines, at the view I see as I cross the river, at the picture I must make weaving in and out of traffic, small person on an elegant bicycle with an angry, intent expression on her otherwise pretty face - well, if I were reading about me in a novel I might develop a little crush.

I never imagine what I look like from the outside, and maybe that's best, since I'd probably just focus on the imperfections, but that little glimpse of my life as a story fragment was interesting. It looked fetching, or intriguing, or something. Evocative.

Blue lights on the bridge. I'd like to record the sound of pedals and chain sometime, the sight of those bridge supports flashing by, the view as I turn my head north to look out over rippling water, that sudden glimpse of the Statue of Liberty in silhouette, almost blocked by a big digital clock on a billboard.

Not everybody sees this every day, I remembered. Look. There's a water taxi below you. A lot of them lately, running right underneath, white wakes billowing out behind.

After dinner I ate a very large soft-serve ice cream cone and laughed like a little kid - it was so tall.