The morning sunshine lured me out from among the four walls of the apartment. I put Titi in charge and headed to the East River.
“It’s no big deal writing fairy tales like this,” I thought. “It’s like I’m over the rainbow where rivers and witches are named after the cardinal winds and four-legged friends are Titis and Totos."
But soon, as I walked into the sunny October the words of the Hungarian poet Endre Ady swept the fairy crowd away from my mind. It happened because the first thing that flashed by me, well, “came silently” -- even if not down Boulevard St Michel but Ninth Street and where instead of the Seine the East River flew by -- was Autumn.
The second one was Manhattan.
Others bumped into it too.
It must be some magic that attracts lonely New Yorkers to the towers. (Speaking of the fairy world...)
New York is the least ugly in the Fall. So I kept walking towards the next park in Wiliamsburg and the next thing that flashed out at me reminded me of my good friend Balazs. The most joyful encounter is the one, which in its novelty carries our memories, too. Oh, and by the way, Filatorigat rocks.
Reaching the park, as often times in this City, a WHATTHEHECK flashed by me.
“Is this a new sport or is it just her thing?”
The mother’s tone let me feel that I asked something trivial.
“Oh, stilts are used in every circus.”
No one has defined New York City better.
