Where I've been

You might well ask. I've been asking myself.

Sunk in gloom. Busy pretending to be busy. In mourning, you might say. It's summer, but I have hardly noticed. Today I took a fairly long walk, from Times Square to Eighth Street. It was hot, but not so hot that such a walk seemed like insanity. There were refreshing pauses at Grand Central (eating an over-rosmaried slice, still slighly astonished that the once so seedy train station basement had become a dining destination), the silver trees in Madison Square Park, and the DSW at Union Square. No, did not buy any shoes. I tried to enjoy the freedom of knowing there was no dog at home anxiously waiting for dinner and a walk, and almost succeeded for moments at a time.

An essay in The New York Times this weekend up so perfectly the pathos and appeal of having a dog that I truly felt there was nothing else to say about the subject. So I won't.

I am starting a new blog to accompany this one. But more on that later.

P.S. I said that I hardly noticed it was summer, but that is not true. There was something different in the air today, along with the unexpected green smell of trees: a curious, un-New Yorky languor. People I passed on the street and in the park seemed to be having long, complicated conversations, to be taking their time to think about what they meant and to state it as clearly as possible for the benefit of their companions. It was curious, like time was pausing a bit in its relentless forward march.