I come back to the memory of this time, the time when the first light shown across the waters, sparkling like tiny flecks of moon dust, illuminated by the rising sun. She was my first family story. She remains my favorite. From this came others, but never so special as the first.
Any writer will tell you, there is noting as special as the first.
The bike path along Shore Parkway …
School was dismissed and the kids scattered. Some of them walked up the long hills and were never heard from again, many married young, birthing and raising a new generation.
It was a fresh start as the kids and their parents threw off the remnants of the yesterdays that defined them and embraced a vision of tomorrow they waited to realize.
For the kids who grew up in the areas surrounding Bay Ridge, the incredible vistas from a seven and a half mile bike path along Shore Parkway, adjacent to the Brooklyn Narrows, spanned these changing times.
It was in the ebb and flow of the waters, in the endless stream of people and traffic, the change began to define itself.
Dancing to a another beat, both parents and children had yet to learn, eventually everything old is new again.
The first day …
She stood for hours lost in the steel-gray colors of the bay smashing against the rocks until she could no longer feel her toes and at last gave in and went around the corner to the house and to her bed. Once again, sleep eluded her and at first light, she turned and looked at the clock on her night table.
She stood in her dressing room, half-awake and struggled into tight flannel long johns and then into jeans. All the layers and heavy socks in place she walked to the far side of her living room, opened the window and looked out at the Brooklyn Narrows. It was five in the morning. The lights on the bridge and the lights of the traffic shown against the dawn sky, guiding each traveler to their destination.
The water wake
Holding a bit