In town, the town is jumpin', and the river is high, but other waves of beings now flood the streets of Northeast, bikers, babies, memorabilia, with chocolate syrup and jimmies, and a crab cake for me and soft-shell for you. What's not to love!
Monday, August 2, 2010
At dawn, the dew begins to sparkle, beckoning the bather to slide slithery soft into the slimy touch of sea grasses, foulers of outboards, whisperers of sensation and deft presence, some sort of treatment for a holding tank of minnows, bound for deeper water, and the miracle of eagles, five years in the making of the gleaming white head, fish eaters, they say, but still worthy of the currency's mark, unmistakeable profile and proud in the perch. Some days, the Osprey make sallies toward the Eagle, as if to engage, but nothing comes of it, there is not the will, nor the precision of the Osprey, to engage, and truth be told, the Osprey has no real beef with the eagle or the Osprey, they are all of a piece, suited just so, playing the parts assigned in this piece of ecosystem, soaring routinely, wowing the crowd, above the speed boats and barges, small craft and mansions, all somehow right in their place. Even Abercrombie and Fitch can't bitch!