Central Park

The gentle melody of a saxophone lingers through the air and thin leaves and flower petals fall over the cobblestone walkway like snowflakes drifting in winter, but, unlike in winter, the curling tree branches are covered in lacy green leaves that flutter and sway in the breeze and far below the grass thrives in the warm sun while birds dart about playing games among the bushes. It is a veritable paradise amidst an industrious urban empire. One moment you are among the swift taxis and brusque traffic of Fifth Avenue, the next you are walking around Wonderland.

All types of people ramble around the park- men, women, children, artists, dancers, crafters, tourists, residents, wanderers, idealists, realists, runners, yoga enthusiasts, and so many others. Paths wind this way and that, around lakes and ponds and reservoirs, under dark tunnels and over bright bridges and through branch covered passageways. In the distance, atop the trees, are sky reaching buildings with golden tops.

The sun sinks lower in the sky and shadows of intertwining branches dance across the walkway. Gray and white pigeons peck at the ground and squirrels run between one tree and the next. Laughter echoes in the breeze that scatters leaves across the ground. Horse-drawn carriages go slowly by as children run in circles around picnics where their parents sit on blankets sharing food and glasses of wine. Not a single soul seems troubled or discontent; it is a world of happiness.

Moving East

           I sat on the floor with my hands in my lap. I had four suitcases total. Two for clothes, one for shoes and one for decorations, like my photos and books and those kinds of things. I sat there and stared back and forth from my piles of stuff to the suitcases to my piles of stuff and back to the suitcases. I did this for probably about fifteen minutes. There was no way it was all going to fit, but how do I decide what to bring and what to leave? Maybe if I stared at it for long enough, it would all just magically fit.

            I have a pretty good collection of books and DVDs. There are the classics like On The Road and The Breakfast Club, nonfictions like Into The Wild and Anthony Bourdain’s Medium Raw, and then there’s the bestsellers like The Help and Crazy Stupid Love. I also have that collection of magazines. A giant stack of European Vogues and other random magazines like Wonderland and a National Geographic featuring the fifty best NG photos of all time. I have tons of kitchen stuff too, like a clock shaped like a chef and a pot made solely for making hot chocolate and probably about ten different mugs and twenty different shot glasses (my favorite is the crooked one that says ‘Tipsy in Indiana’ that I bought at a gas station when I was passing through). I have a porcelain elephant, a couple of small African masks I found at a street fair, and a large poster of a monkey getting drunk. I also have a Jimi Hendrix record, but no turntable. How could I leave any of that behind?!

            Yes, I do have a lot of random ass shit. Very few of it makes sense when put together in one place, but I love it all.  Now I realize that moving across the country may not be as easy as I thought it might be. I don’t even have an apartment yet, let alone a job, and I’m leaving tomorrow, but I’m sure everything will work out. Must stay positive!

            I left the shoes for last. This would also be very hard, as I had picked out more than twenty pairs from my closet that I wanted to take. Four pairs of boots, four pairs of ballet flats, a couple pairs of Sperry’s, umpteen high heels, a pair of kitten heels, a few pairs of sandals, and so on and so forth. The same notion came over me as I sat on the floor looking from shoes to suitcase. Maybe if I stared at them long enough, they would all magically fit. I started with a couple pairs of tennis shoes, then some heels, then the flats and sandals. In total, I am bringing fifteen pairs of shoes to New York. I’m not even sure how that worked out. Possibly it was all the squishing and shoving until not even a baby shoe could fit in there.

            As we arrived at the San Francisco airport the next day, my mother and I that is, I noticed a few odd looks from passersby as the driver unloaded one large suitcase after another after another. They probably also noticed that I was wearing boots, a jacket and a hat as well as carrying a wool coat and a large stuffed purse even though it had to be almost seventy degrees out. With six bags in tow, four of which were mine, we looked like a couple of gypsies walking up to the United check-in desk. And, as you can probably guess, we were those people at security. The ones who have too much stuff and take forever and end up having to have their bags checked for possible weapons. The weapon turned out to be a candle. Watch out! It’s a weapon of mass nasal sensation!

            We arrived in New York and took a car to our hotel, The Warwick, where we finally got to unload and change out of the clothes we had been travelling in all day before going to dinner at a hip New York restaurant, Tao. We sipped on cosmos, got rather inappropriately hit on by a man who invited us to sit with him and his friends (I mean come on, I’m with my mother!) and ate some of the most delicious coconut shrimp tempura and orange chicken I have ever tasted. So far, New York was off with a good start.

            Next, apartment hunting!

Welcome to the World, Little Filly

As I peered through the bars of the stall door and as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, Sara's chestnut ears perked forward and she took two steps toward the door. There was a shuffling behind her as the filly stumbled around trying to stay close to her mother's side. Her long legs splayed out in front of her to keep her balance and her short black tail tucked between her legs. She was light brown all over save for a small white sock on her left hind foot. She had her mother's beautiful eyes.

Outside in the grassy field, two more fillies ran circles around their mothers. Butterflies fluttered through the air in the sun and off in the distance you could see the shining ocean. Tall trees swayed back and forth in the breeze. One filly slipped and fell to the ground and lied there as if it were on purpose. Her mother crouched to her knees and bent her hind legs down and heaved her body to the ground to roll around in the grass next to her baby.

Back inside, the filly was trying to figure out how to scratch an itch on her neck without falling over. She attempted to lift her hind leg toward her neck a couple times, but gave up in the end- balancing on four legs was difficult enough. It was only eight hours ago that she had first come into this world.

Welcome to the world, little filly.

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A slight breeze whispers through the grass in the late afternoon sun, blowing his main and tail into soft waves as he munches softly on the tufts of green blades. His large brown eyes are relaxed, his eyelashes glowing in the light. He lifts one foot and stomps it back down to shoo a fly away. Warm air wafts rythmically in and out of his nose and he snorts every once in a while to clear out the dust.

            

Over the wooden fence are rolling green hills and small farms dotted with oak trees. The only road for a few miles has a single car rolling over it- a ’97 black Chevy pickup- disappearing and reappearing from behind the trees. It slows and turns onto a dirt and gravel road, kicking clouds of dust into the air behind it. As the pickup comes to a stop in front of the wooden fence, his right ear flicks backward and his eyebrow lifts. The door opens and a young woman hops out wearing jean shorts, a white tank top, and sneakers, her hair shining golden in the sun and riding on the breeze.

              
At the sound of her voice he lifts his head and turns. At the sound of his voice she smiles.

Memories of Paris

The air flurried silently, casting a frozen breath over everything it touched. It stung my nose and cheeks as I walked through a garden of snow and ice. Snowflakes fell slowly to the ground, the thin layer of powder crunching with every step I took. The sky was blanketed with gray clouds as if I had been trapped inside a glass orb covered with cashmere sweater. The trees were barren; not a single leaf hung from their branches. Tire tracks rolled through the snow in front of me, perhaps left from the truck of the gardener on his way to tend to the desolate garden. A large ferris wheel loomed up behind me, its hinges fixed from the chilled air as well.

I was alone.

In the distance, through the fog, I could see the top of Le Tour Eiffel, its hard edges smoothed out by the gray light. I had been taken back in time to what seemed a simpler age, a time when everything was black and white. Writhing branches stood starkly against the white sky and ponds lie still, their beautiful women frozen in longing. Chairs sat empty around the fountain while ravens and swallows pecked at the ground for morning morsels. A door to the summer gazebo swung back and forth with the breeze, revealing more lonely chairs inside.

I walked through the frosted hedges to the edge of the garden, turning right down Rue de Rivoli. Small black cars with round headlights drove past as I skipped across the street in my knee-length white and navy plaid coat with embellished collar toward a cafe in hopes of finding une crepe au nutella et bananes. To my dismay, the cafe was closed on Sundays.

Standing on the corner, the breath rising from my lips frozen within an instant, I tucked my hands in my pockets and looked down the street from left to right, following the small black cars that drove past. To my knowledge, either way was as good as the other, so I chose to turn on my wedge-heeled boots and walk down Rue de Castiglione behind me. Gray buildings rose up around me with white awnings hanging over their doors. A young girl in a red coat and white stockings ran down the steps of Hotel de Vendome, stopping on the sidewalk to turn and wait for her mother and revealing a red ribbon curled around her hair. The doorman smiled and tipped his hat as he opened the door to a black taxi. Several square suitcases sat on the ground.

The air kept biting at my nose, I could feel the tip of it turning pink with the cold. After a while, the black taxis driving by turned into sleek town cars and the narrow street stretched out to both sides and around a large column. The buildings turned a soft peach decorated with snowflake-like lights and terraces framed with black and gold iron. Faces stretched out above each archway and every window glimmered beneath the lights. Despite the gray sky, Place Vendome shone with something, je ne sais quoi. The awnings were still white, but it was the lettering that caught my eye.

Dior. Chanel. Tiffany. Louis Vuitton. Lanvin. Cartier.

One Night

She walked in to the overwhelming aroma of spilled beer and popcorn. The bar was more crowded than usual tonight; the loud and obnoxious fraternity boys filled the booths, standing on tables, raising their glasses to clash with one another while their sorority counterparts sat below them, cautiously eyeing one another and sipping on vodka soda; a few football players sat at the bar taking shots of Jaegermeister and turning in their chairs to glance at the girls that walked by; the bartenders furiously mixed drinks and poured beers as college students waved cash in their faces, yelling in their order through a haze of noise; the usually stoned crowd sat in the corners, yelling unusually loud at each other as they tried to reconcile between their intake of marijuana and their excessive amounts of Jack and Coke; at the end of the bar, those who had obviously drunk too much too early danced ridiculously next to the jukebox that played hit songs from the sixties and seventies, awkwardly bumping into one another while trying to keep beat; from the front it looked as if there was no room for anyone else to fit inside, but the bouncer continued to check IDs and usher the line of people inside.

She edged her way through the crowd ignoring any glances from boys who got too close and made her way to the back, worming herself into a position next to the bar. She stood there quietly, credit card in hand, and waited for a bartender to notice her. As she leaned against the bar she stained her blue floral dress with the remains of beer, vodka, and soda that lay on the surface. The girl next to her stumbled upon turning with a handful of drinks, spilling vodka and cranberry juice all over her black leather boots.

Once she had a drink in her hand, she turned and walked down the back hall, passed what she assumed were the beginnings of one night stands, and out the back door. Curls of smoke wrapped around her, soaking into her hair. She sipped her drink and the soft sting of whiskey lingered in her throat as she looked around for a familiar face. She peered around a group of smokers hovering near a small fire pit and walked a few steps closer to see him. They smiled at each other, feeling somehow drawn to one another as their eyes meet.

Winter

I woke up this morning to find a light dusting of snow on the ground. Getting snow in Eugene is rather rare- it only happens a couple times a year. Having never lived in the snow, I can appreciate the beauty of the delicate flakes lightly falling to the  ground, slowly accumulating to form a glistening layer of white. There is something about the utter silence of snowfall that makes it so enchanting.

Snowflakes begin to cover my jacket, my gloves, my hair and eyelashes- each one made up of tiny structures only visible up close. Cars drive by slowly, afraid that if they go too fast they might slip on the barely-there powder on the streets. The cloud cover makes the air feel warmer despite the snow falling from the sky. Every California girl is hoping this will continue long enough to start a small snowball fight or make a tiny snowman.

But alas, the snow stops after only an hour. The dust on the ground begins to melt, dashing all hopes of a winter playground. The day becomes normal again- cold and wet.

The coffeehouse is warm, almost too warm. The tables are filled with people- students doing homework, graduate students working on a thesis, families out for a holiday breakfast, and chatty old ladies socializing with one another over coffee. Only one table is open, where I set my laptop down and begin working, forgetting all about my wishes for a snow day.