I miss Port Jefferson and the drive there; all the way from Huntington on 25a. The old tree lined beauty of the north shore on a summer day. And watching the sunset by the port and the ferry as it leaves for Connecticut 

desperate for intelligent life

despite it all, I start to feel the need to 

      gravitate closer to “the (NY) City” but not as in the city  …..Not as in so close to the city you can choke on the fumes. Not as in the city as you constantly deal with annoying tourists that are not from somewhere else outside New York but from the city (New York City) thinking they are playing in the country with the natives. I hate that. Jab you with their elbow to grab that perfect apple you’re reaching for. No it is something more like the proximity of it—like, a train ride away; a day trip ….the other day I found myself missing those irritating broadway show tv ads ….no, it’s culture I miss. I need it. What would be so perfect would be to live by all the kinds of places I like to go to. Museums with my favorite artists, places to see that let my mind wander, the possibility of encountering intelligent life, art, natural beauty, intellectual conversation….and gardens. Lots of gardens ….

….still

 

 

a weird phrase is now stuck in my head repeating; forced into sharing a burden of guilt

do we wither into the quiet corners? Those recesses of hither and yon, scratching the thoughts upon the walls who still listen 

instead of something at the finish, you’re just finished, it feels and I feel that weary sense of ….the sage watching from afar 

it’s called ‘the north country’ in this region; I’d dare to compare it to something like what would have been 1800’s England. 

instead of horse and buggy it’s the old jalopy

Cranbrook; the possibility of a railroad. How could that warrant change 

The distrust and dislike of change from locals 

then funds could fall through