Mornings in Brooklyn and Fabulous Wool
Spring fashion and a spin through the world of chocolatey Brownstones and fat Tabby cats.
Morning Meanderings // March 17, 2017
Pulled softly along a frosted belt of cement
drawn into morning
—a dandelion of a sun pushing up through the cracks
a sidewalk of golden kisses —
pulled softly by happy strands of sunshine
and a smile
on my swirling breath
Two outfits, one morning. Brooklyn in Spring. I hope you enjoy the photos from my recent sewing projects and Bedstuy's blossomed delight!
Even in the city, morning is a peaceful escape from any of life’s troubles. Brooklyn’s Fulton Street is nearly as vacant at six in the morning as the field-strung road I used to live on in Oregon’s little Scio.
Squirrels still scamper up trees, practicing their balance with breakfast in tow. Mother sparrows dictate chores for their hatchlings to begin.
There aren't any black and white dairy cows to come question my doings, with both curious eyelashes and all knowing tail swishes. There are, however, the plump grey pigeons who inspect me lazily from a distance.
— What’s that in her glowing hand? A book? A loaf of stale bread, perhaps? Do you think she’s bringing us snacks?
I don’t get the same sense of superiority complex from the imploring pigeons as the Holstein queens.
The streets are mixed chocolate boxes, cluttered with homes of every flavor. Dark cocoa Brownstones, trimmed with coconut railings. Strawberry facades drizzled with white chocolate trim. Butter pecan, with cherry red doors. Orange stone houses striped with ginger shutters.
Vanilla dogwood blossoms and the cement ribbon that ties them together.
There’s a coffee shop down the street.
The grafiti-splashed gate rolls skyward, and a woman with tight dark braids unravels her keys-in-lights-on-grill-on thread of a routine with practiced hands.
It’s mostly quiet; save for the hum of similar waking storefronts and the pigeons’ sleepy breakfast inquiries.
Thoughts of chocolate candies makes the display of fresh pastries in the shop window look beyond tempting.
A line of storried little men trickle down the sidewalk and through the open cafe doors, to convene over black coffee in white mugs.
Remnants of the night before catch telltale pools of light in the street. Glass bottles, blue wrappers, a ruby high heeled shoe.
An old man scrunches his nose.
—Those youngsters… I catch him mutter to his senior comrade. He holds the door open with one hand and spews an irrigation of hand motions with the other.
— Back in my day…
Spring is setting in over the city.
Seven bells from seven churches chime in unison, like a sweet blessing that spans the neighborhood.
For once I walk past more churches than I’m layered with sweaters — a confection of cashmere and wool, topped with a raspberry beret I’ve perpetually “borrowed” from my mother.
Today the tree’s delicate buds are cosigned with clouds, but it it warm enough for just two layers.
The clouds soften to reveal a string of Chinese characters on one buttery Brownstone, letters rolling like tiny kittens summersaulting across the tin-trimmed roof.
On cue, an orange Tabby arks his back on the street in front of me, stretching up to meet my hand like it was my idea. His purring is interrupted by a bowl of milk being set on his stoop by the hands of his human.
The cat belongs to a white house with a yellow door. Its smooth black railing stands with arms outstretched, welcoming you into a sunrise.
My company is suddenly overruled by the red bowl on the stairs. My fluffy friend waddles back up the steps to greet his breakfast.
— Good morning! His human welcomes and then disappears toward the little voices beconing to ‘mommy’ inside.
Bedstuy in Spring // April 2, 2017
Leaves that clothe iron skeletons in rich velvet
violet petals spread across decrepit bricks
like flesh blossoming over dry bones
like glittering eyes pooling blue above
fence-post noses and red brick mouths
mouths that sing swingset whispers
the creaking of chains and the taste of rust
the taste of laughter