Around goes the newly homeless squirrel, aimlessly searching the park for somewhere to dwell. The park offered much comfort and serenity, but the squirrel was not satisfied; he didn’t want to follow the crowd. As the creature awaited his fate as the day went on, he saw something through the brush. A tall mass of construction picked at his brain, as if it were his castle. The sky darkened, and the wind whipped through the brisk air. The squirrel scurried through the park, up into the building before nightfall. He would never know what would become of the building, yet he commanded it as if it were his own. Pride and dignity sunk into the mind of the squirrel, making him stronger by night.

North Conservatory Garden at Central Park

The soft wind rustles the leaves of the unyielding forces of nature that bow down to mother nature herself, tugging a few of the leaves loose and sending them beyond the iron gates of the park. She lifts and carries away the sweet melodic voices of the children chattering and the birds carrying out an ancient tune to the far-nether regions of the garden. She causes the serene façade of the water to ripple, destroying the illusion of the sunbathed iron-and-stone giants. Tumbling over the shrubs and immaculately cut grass that alternates in a pattern: dark, light, dark, light…the wind rustles the hair of a mother, a tourist, a child, a person simply being illuminated by the estate. She leaves her mark on the oasis, pulsating with life.

The skyscrapers stand proud and tall. They surround the park as if it is a stranger in the big city that it finds itself in. But the park stands out as a beacon of nature, always a pleasant sight to those who might find themselves lost in the city. It may be a stranger, but it is welcomed by people who want to forget for a second that they are surrounded by steel and concrete. It might not be tall but its beauty shines, offering a fresh breathe, compared to the stale air that lingers around. But staring from in between the trees the skyscrapers beauty shows, hidden but still there. One’s eyes are now open, to the beauty of both nature and man.

A murky blanket encompasses the sky as the sun tries to illuminate the scene below, lend some clarity.  It doesn’t have much success, only a few rays permeate the atmosphere.  They afford a bleak view of homes they shroud, residing in the less exciting side of New York —not the image that comes to mind.  It’s quieter and has less bustle, but that’s what most of New York really is.  You stare out of the window, but at first you can’t see past the glass.  All you see is the grime accumulated from what you hope is flying debris, but you don’t really want to know either way.  But then your eyes shift focus and now you’re watching your world fly by the way you would watch a filmstrip play. You get a sense of the community, of the nothing-too-promising-but-you-can’t-complain, of content.  But you get it one moment at a time.  The train you’re on gives you only fleeting glimpses of every facet of its path, but that’s enough. It’s enough to contemplate each vision individually, but still absorb the inescapable sense of New York as a whole.

As the traveller advanced down West 32nd St. leaving Penn Station behind him, he entered another cultural niche in the vast city of New York. Stuck in the midst of strangers on the crowded street, his cone of vision could only point upwards. The red, green and yellow signs became more illustrious against the dusky sky with each passing minute; the night was coming. The approaching darkness, the foreign murmur of the pedestrians, the blasting incomprehensible music from the nearby karaoke bar and the incomprehensible bright signs present in his cone of vision made the traveller panic. He felt like a novice in the very city, which he spent several years exploring. But the traveller did not quail, for he had yet to accomplish his goal. He still needed to shed his fear of the unknown and explore this foreign setting, for he wanted to take a further step in becoming a better New Yorker. Maybe then, the traveller would not feel like a traveller anymore.

The crisp, cool night air is the perfect early autumn evening. The daylight dims to an indigo sky, people are going about oblivious. They’re focused on their destination. People, buildings and lights are everywhere. The lights become the beautiful daylight. Time doesn’t stop for anyone. The changing sky is moving. People are moving. It’s bustling city nightlife. Wow, this is NYC.

Individual, Identical, Innumerable, for here they are. Repetition is repeating itself; repetition is reoccurring. An endless stream of windows dot the apartments from the top to presumably the bottom. Air moves through the windows to and fro, carrying away sweat and shivers. Sunlight and skyline flow through and enter the dwelling place.  Sight shoots both ways, out to repetition and into the mind. Peer in and reveal the identity of a man. Peer out and discover the unlimitedness of a city. Gazing skyward or streetward, it is all the same. Perception pays attention to periodicity. The construct of The Architect’s mind, a community with distinction. One window works with another to create the apartment’s façade. One person lives in fellowship with another. One building stands in communion with the others. Down below repetition happens again, the branches and leaves follow suit. Individual. Identical. Innumerable.

The impatient passenger waits and angrier he becomes as each second ticks. The concrete platform shakes; the metallic beast groans. As it approaches the passengers release a sigh a relief; a relief that splices the air. The snake like subway slowly, but surely, makes its way into the station and as the carts roll and grind on the tracks it lets out a childlike squeal. Closer and closer just inches away, it slows to a stop and hisses as if to tease everyone.Every passenger slowly approaches the edge of the platform, like a lion slowly stalking its prey.  The heavens open up and light colors all that was gray, spirits are lifted. This is the daily routine of a commuter.

Penetrating the sky with a sudden force, the city’s finest buildings slowly rise from the ground. Clearing everything in their path, the giant structures perplex all living things in their vicinity. The rays from the sun embellish the buildings by giving them an unnatural beauty. Everyone is forced to take notice, while trembling with fear and admiration. Everything comes to a stand still, the cars, the air, and even mother nature. Instead of being nerved by the buildings, people actually take pride in them. And seeing the heights reached by the structures makes people wonder about the heights they can achieve in their own life.

Tension builds as daylight’s momentum slows to a beautiful speed.  The earth anticipates the sun’s exit.  The sun gathers his remaining strength to release his final burst of energy.  He sends out pulses in colors: purple, orange, pink, blue, red, and gold.  The waves of hues pass over the ocean, sand, forest, homes, and roadways.  They pass through people and leave them breathless.  The vibrations then settle.  They release a collective sigh and seep into the earth, who swells with anxiety and color.  The earth finally gives in to the sun’s departure, taking solace in the though that he will return to her tomorrow.  The earth will soon be dark, but for now, the sea and the ground glow with heavenly light.