A sip of wine, droopy eyelids, pre-concert meditation, flowers, old friends, new faces. The night was a whirlwind.
Whitman’s Crossing Brooklyn Ferry is rushing through my mind, for whatever reason. “Flood-tide below me! I see you face to face!” Peering into the churning, dark water, slumped along the shore, stars nodding softly at my mouth curling into an exhausted smile.