What a strange kind of saturday. Not that anything much happened. But on one hand, it felt some kind of fantastic long. In a light imagined way. Perhaps 2nd person narrative is the right term. Even more, the weather tonight seems other worldly. Off, or maybe new. The lilac petals were blowing in the soft, welcomed breeze. A slight, questionable drizzle floated, danced really, within the space around me. It was quiet, but the warm air felt full. Dark, but alive. I felt outside myself on 93rd and Park. But wholly myself, too. Maybe it's wonder at it's purest. I don't know what's happening.
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