Wings pulled tight

In my leather armchair looking north, through the doorway to the terrace off our 4th floor Upper West Side apartment.

The door is propped open by a blue and white Coleman cooler and even though my neighbors could, technically, see me in my pajama bottoms from across the courtyard through the diminishing leaves on the Chinese elm, I sit satisfied, for I get a nice view of the table and chairs, the zinnias, the umbrella—folded as though it’s a gull with its wings pulled tight to its body facing the stiff ocean breeze. Beyond them, the top of the elm sways from the wind brought by the front moving through New York. The early morning light is newborn from sunrise and getting used to itself.

The doorway is an invitation—a beckoning…a bridge between what is settled, predictable, agreed on (that which is inside and controlled) and that which is part of the occasional maelstrom, the uncontrollable and constantly negotiated world external to our small home.

photo: macropoulos