Back in Crown Heights.
It's been a while since I've written one of these . . . Stream of thought and poetic angst seem tied to a different time. A part of some other reality so far removed from, as if driven asunder by the force of the Millennia.
Yet a new hope is visible everywhere, and always seems to touch the soul.
I left a brown and grey Brooklyn. Cold and dry . . . only beginning to recover from winter's icy grasp. The seeds, planted then in prayers, have begun to sprout anew . . .
People are out, the spring has returned.
Children bounce like young fawns after the winters frost, couples mill about in the evening's warm glow.
Has it really been a year since I mused on passing clouds?
Soon the fireflies will warm the dusk of my Brooklyn garden . . . and what will be
Only He knows.
Technorati Tags: Thoughts, Life, Crown Heights, Spring