I am a tug after all March 10, 2025

The tug, huffing and puffing its way up stream, hooting its horn, a warning, chugging along the river just beneath where I stand on The Palisades, a small dot on the water, painted red and blue against the metal gray of the river, this end of a long journey too fear to walk to reach the far side.

The tug, looking insignificant against the all-might skyline of a city that never sleeps, slowing its pace where the cruise ships dock, this vision o the world always with me, even in my dreams, a landscape I can’t escape, draped over me like a shawl, keeping me content 
email to Al Sullivan