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air like bathwater
Wednesday, April 17 2002I was inside all day working on my chat project. Meanwhile the outdoors had warmed up so much that this was probably the best place to be. If it's this hot in mid-April, I can only look forward to August with a sense of dread.
At around 11pm, Gretchen and I took Sally for a barefoot walk in the Prospect Park. People were here and there in little clusters throughout the long meadow as if the darkness was but a momentary solar eclipse on a beautiful summer afternoon. The air was like bathwater, and at times it was difficult to feel a distinction between my body and the atmosphere. It was blowing about in comforting breezes, each of slightly different temperature providing relief from whatever shortcomings were in the breeze before. Think of this as a comfort-analogue to one of those Escher woodcuts of a white man climbing an endless stairway.
Though it was as warm as a nighttime in July, since it is still so early in spring, it didn't smell the same. The air was perfumed with all varieties of floral frangrances and none of summer's funk.
We found a secluded area north of the axis of the long meadow at the edge of a patch of forest, not far from where Gretchen and David the Rabbi came upon a stabbing victim over a year ago. [REDACTED]
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