With dawn comes the return of form, form sensing cold through glass seeks flame, flame boils water for tea and oats, oats are chewed watching clouds go from pink into white into gone. I read and write and bundle and brace myself stepping out the door but I still feel like I’m getting punched in the head, but not as badly as Anderson Cooper.
I navigate black ice and snow-covered sidewalks and slush traps into tunnel and train. I head to Red Hook, western Brooklyn, where I dodge heavy machinery throwing scrap metal (one crane has that magnetized disc I thought only existed to threaten our hero trapped in the car) and oil-laden trucks to hike down to the river. I take my sandwich outside and eat with quickly freezing hands (Kangeiko!), look at barge traffic and Lady Liberty and gulls cruising by who I swear have New York accents.
All photographs by Noel Tendick