Headline
2003-04-03, 10:33 p.m.

Headline

Sitting on the 750a train from Tarrytown to NYC with its alternating red and blue seats and its airconditioning struggling to hum out coolish air, the day outside is drab; one of those too hot summer days followed by a rain that doesn't serve to relieve the heat, but only makes the air feel heavier and more clinging. So the little draft of semi-cool air in the car does much to refresh me and the other auto-pilot commuters inevitably reading their morning news around me. Only I am witnessing the washed-out landscape as it whirrs past, that the Hudson River and the early morning sky are the same steel grey, that the Tappan Zee Bridge is shrouded in a mist of fog. But it seems what the President is doing in Europe or how much the market dropped yesterday are more important even on days when the sun, peeking over the cliffs on The New Jersey side of the Hudson, dances on the water and glitters a golden good morning hello. Little do they see past the numbers of The Wall Street Journal to the dip in the cliffs filled with a bush of trees, exposing itself like a woman's legs parted.

But can I blame them? They are seeking facts, not fancies. The want information, not innuendo. They are on their way to the big hubbubaloo of the mighty and merciless New York City and we all must prepare in our own ways. Me, I prefer to delay the on-slaught of read-me, listen-to-me, pay-attention-to-me demands of the day. But I am reading--where the clouds are going, and I am listening--to the morse code of squaeks the train is signaling to me on its side-to-side rumble down the tracks, and I am paying attention--to the trees waving and the wind sighing and the sun shimmering...to the things that will keep on doing what they do despite whether I pay attention to them or not. Because I want to observe the great scheme, the Big Game, before I enter into that game within a game.