We ran into the Small Man last night when we made our way to the historic Hamilton overlook to watch the Macy’s fireworks display in the Hudson River.
This was the first year since the early 1990s that the fireworks were displayed on this side of Manhattan rather than on the East River side.
I was actually surprised to see the Small Man making his way through the crowds without his usual entourage. I may have been the only one who recognized him as mayor.
I had not seen him in a while. His silver hair had turned white, and he looked just a bit weary as he gave us advice as to where we might view the fireworks, best, although by the time we got to the place he suggested the crowds had filled up the place. The park that overlooked the Hudson had been closed to the public with a huge fence keeping people from accessing it, a shame since it provided a large lawn and place to sit. But authorities likely feared people might fall off the cliff which was bordered by a relatively low metal fence. Some people climbed into the park anyway and were quickly removed. We stood against the outer fence our view largely obstructed with most of the fire works visible between the trunks of trees.
The hour long show put the fireworks down river to shame, even though both shows were produced by the same company – and organizers decided to wait until the show at the county seat concluded before setting off the barrage of their own – the line of boats in the middle of the river spewing rocket after rocket, the colors reflected off the glass face of buildings on the Manhattan side.
When the show concluded the crowds made their way back along the side streets. We did the same, arriving at Park Avenue above the water tower, and then crossed near the church towards our home on the other side of the city. On a misnamed street called “Golden Lane” someone had blocked the street with a sputtering firework that filled the neighborhood with smoke.
Remarkably, there were few fire crackers being set off by the general public than in the past, most of which came after dawn this morning.
Seeing the Small Man only stirred up old memories, especially because I’ve been posting journals from those days on my blog, and passing the familiar landscape on the way home made me a bit sad – especially when we passed the building the poet once lived in.
She moved out shortly after we moved to the north part of the county, and I’m still uncertain as to whether or not with was a coincidence, as she abandoned seventh heaven for some place in the Morningside Heights section of Manhattan, which she later abandoned for new digs farther south.
At the end of the day, all things change, some of which can be explained. Other things remain mysterious
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