The thing I love about the subway is the rawness of the people energy. What is the promise of an early love of mass transit. Not always realized.
But on days such as this (Dec. 1), my body shot through with adrenaline after a 4-plus mile run in the brilliant sunshine of Prospect Park – marking the classic style of the mature Japanese maple, red and orange leaves, rubies in the shimmering light along the ridge run adjacent to Prospect Park Southwest, beyond Sixteenth Street, a beauty for the residents of Windsor Terrace to enjoy on an everyday morning stroll – I am gasping with the memory of it all, yet another treasure brought to mind and put into my subway journal, a gentle reminder to seek out in these next few weeks the leaves still held fast in these dreamscape trees.
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