Our frequent two-hour drive from our legal domicile, on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, to our country home in Kingston, N.Y., could be effectively termed, a “journey,” in recognition of our notable alteration in perspective, resulting from such a modest, pilgrimage.
To be clear, we value the exotic pleasure of living in a busy and active metropolis, equally, with the fortuitous opportunity of additionally residing in a cherished rural residence. Our present context does not relate to any trite contrast between the two, social or natural, but rather to said apprehension of our reaction to the radically transformed tempo.
Manhattan’s Upper West Side is characteristically famous for its multitude of dignified, canopied, and well-maintained brick apartment buildings, many close to one hundred years old, uniformly separated by two-lane streets; the latter, busy with private, commercial, and official vehicles, as well as crowds of daytime pedestrians. The dynamic scene is accompanied by a tattoo or musical continuo, of traffic honks, police, and ambulance sirens, the asthmatic wheezes of stopping buses, the subtle underground roar of the City subway, the energetic summoning of taxis, the hum and grind of equipment engaged in elderly building rejuvenation, the occasional music of carried radios, at times the shouts, adult and child, the barking of leashed and commercially walked dogs, the overhead chirps of sparrows and the throaty gurgles of slow, land lubber, head-bobbing pigeons.
The (usually, fifteen-story) apartment buildings can observably and functionally, be described as internally lighted, uniform honeycombs, with windows, universally facing the busy, two-way streets. If it were permissibly possible to peer into such windowed honeycombs, one might observe any multitude of diverse human scenarios, from stationary sitting at tables, watching television, reading, celebrating, or disputing, cleaning, making love, engaging in conversation or argument, sleeping, of the young and the old, the robust and the crippled old and infirm.
The Metropolis is eternally lighted, humming, and charged with human and mechanical energy and, on occasion, unrelenting scenes of joy and pathos. It is an eternal, multi-faceted portrayal and broad display of the infinite variety of Man’s contemporary life. The omnipresent and unrelenting tempo is uniquely contrasted with the miraculous interposition of the verdant and peaceful Central Park, the latter, a cogent reminder of the choice of alternate scenarios.
Our frequent treks from our Manhattan home to rural Kingston start with familiar views of such described streets, stores, apartment buildings, stores, pedestrians, traffic lights, parked and moving automobiles; in general, the described, multi-tableau of a metropolitan tapestry. A pivotal event is our signature arrival at the (George Washington) bridge, empirically described as a four thousand, and seventy-six-long, two-tier Bridge, spanning the Hudson River and connecting New York City with New Jersey. Such a factual description is at variance with our nuanced and romantic perception of an exotic portal or gateway to the tranquil tempo and verdancy, exemplified by the nearby venue of Central Park.
The ambiance of our two-hour voyage to Kingston is apt preparation for the themed metamorphosis of our contextual alteration in perception. After leaving the City environment, we soon find ourselves, high up on the cliffs of the Palisades Interstate Parkway in New Jersey, overlooking the Hudson and the skyline of New York City. It is, to us, remarkably symbolic of our mutual, although contrasting, nexus between our City home and our Country residence in Kingston, that the Hudson River, faithfully and symbolically, flows with us to our destination.
In our voyage, we see fascinating, magnificent hills, prehistorically, composed of layered sedimentary rock at the side of the highway, a testament to the eons of successive lakes, or river bottoms having succeeded each other and then fossilized. We see mountains and thousands of trees of every variety, wildlife, birds and buzzards, ponds, streams, and seasonal flowers. Before reaching Esopus Creek in the Catskill Mountains region we see many large areas of cultivated, short, sculptural-looking, fruit trees, which we enjoy as much as artistically sculptured objets d’art. Soon, we, delightedly, reach our Ulster County home on Ruby Road, which we have affectionally named, “Ruby Rose.”
The large, Living Room-Kitchen, and Dining Area is enclosed with glass and has high ceilings with glass clerestories. The outdoor ambiance populated with large, beautiful trees, grass, and outcrop stones, is observably visited by deer and other woodland friends and, in contrast to the steady beat of the cosmopolitan tempo, is pacific, natural, and aesthetically stimulating.
We find both venues to be conducive to writing essays, but the Rubyrose setting and tempo may be somewhat more emotionally suitable for writing poetry.
-p.
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