Across the River

I stare across the Hudson from the comfort of the living room in my apartment. At this time of the morning, everything is still. There is little activity on the West Side highway as most sane people are still sound asleep. The lights along the roadways, and those coming from the buildings are mesmerizing. . It is a time before that world has awakened It is a time of serenity.

In short order, the sun will come up and the world in front of me will alter dramatically. The activity from across the river has a palpable feel for me. You can touch it and sense it from where I sit. It is a large and glorious being, ready to explode with energy. As it now rests, it is just gaining strength for the travails of the day ahead.

I am not part of that world. My days don't go there. I head in the other direction when I leave the shelter of my shelter. If you think that I feel some sense of loss for not being a part of that being , you may be right.

There are always going to be people on both sides of every river. I don't want this to sound bitter or to suggest that those on the other side are luckier than I am. It is just that they are daily part of something that has an energy that is missing here. I just heard the familiar sound of a newspaper being dropped outside my door, and here that is an occurrence of note .

The sunrises over the city are often spectacular. It is as if the gathering force of the day across the river illuminates the sky in bold and dramatic colors. Another opportunity for something unique is about to unfold.

I will soon finish writing this piece and head to the door to pick up the morning newspaper. I will read , as I do every day, of things large and small that are happening across the river. Then , I will get in my car and head to my office, leaving the sounds and smells of that place to others. Some morning, I may find myself making a wrong turn and ending up on the other side of the river, just for a moment. Someday.