A crisp winter day. The leaves are now gone, trees and city stripped bare to reveal concrete and pavement everywhere. I am slowly gaining the pace again of an old friend city that I left several months ago. Back in NYC, and I am smiling.
There are so many interesting places in the world to visit, and I am remiss to linger in a few spots that strike my fancy. The US finds me now, even though I might prefer an European country in the south, foreign tongues more familiar from a past spent in Latin countries. Yet, even with my preferences and languid pursuit of new destinations, New York draws me back like a yo-yo slings taut on its string. As far as I seem to fling myself away from this city (my first taste coming in the winter of 2001), somehow I find myself back in NYC again and again.
I left the last time in October, but my departure was more affecting; I felt then that I had moved away from the city, a phase of my life ending like a thunderstorm. I was strangely desolate and drifting, after learning to live deeply in the city. There are so many people and aggravations here, it is true, but it is brilliant beyond all things. I reflect on the words that I have written previously about my days in NYC, and I realize that its inspiration has clutched me like so many others before me. NYC has a familiar way of attracting people to its vitality, so I am back in NYC. And I feel NYC back in me.