post-irene: safe on the hill side

grey skies and showers-- and an occasional wind gust-- at around the 9am hour.

but the hill was lucky.

it was a nice, quiet walk, hardly any cars on the avenues or even the fdr drive.

park ave...

second ave

first ave

first ave

38th/fdr drive south

a little flooding, on the northbound fdr drive

the UN

***

and: lights are on... we have bagels!

cloudwatching

garden state parkway-style. april 24, 2011.

photos © anita aguilar

thundersnow 2011: awe and wonder

you knew i couldn't stay inside, right?

though i wasn't outside for long before the camera and i were soaked.

jan 27, 2011. 1am. photos © anita aguilar

sweet: thundersnow 2011

park ave. 1am. dec 27, 2011.

pretty city: the "it's new york, baby" edition

we don't have it too bad here, but this seems unwise.

"it's new york, baby..." said david, to three guys who yowled after stepping in a puddle that was better than ankle-deep.
(outside 185 madison avenue).

photos © anita aguilar

pretty city: when the storm hits

all photos © anita aguilar

read a good poem: the way though

before the storm...same time, last year.

my friends have started to complain about all the june rain.

i don't think i'll ever tire of it. i love the before, during, and after a summer storm. fast moving clouds, swirly winds, people scurrying for shelter. me, in my duck boots.


***

the way through (1954)

let the rain plunge radiant
through sulky thunder
rage on rooftops

let it scissor and bounce its denials
on concrete slabs and black
roadways. flood the streets. it's much

but not enough, not yet: persist,
rain, real rain, sensuous,
swift, released from

vague skies, the tedium

up there.

under scared bucking trees

the beach road washed out -

trying to get by on the verge
is no good, earth crumbles into the
brown waterfall, but he backs up

the old car again and CHARGES.

the water flies in the halfwit's eyes

who didn't move fast enough

"who do you think i am, a horse?"

but we made it--

drown us, lose us

rain, let us loose, so,
to lose ourselves, to career
up the plunge of the hill.

--denise levertov
from the new american poetry, 1945-1960

***

favorite line:
trying to get by on the verge
is no good