one, six, twelve, fifteen, nineteen, twenty-four, and thirty-three
yep. now there are seven runways.
i remember being sure that there were only two or three.
so much for “being sure.”
i’m probably the only person who cares about this.
i might be angling for a part on sesame street.
one – two – three – four….and so on.
ok. i’m an idiot.
maybe it’s time to run for the presidency.
but i digress….
my camera no longer works. when i power it up, it tells me to, “turn it off and turn it on again,” over and over and over.
it’s a very compact, circular argument.
consequently, the journey to floyd bennett field and fort tilden has only four photos by way of an aging cellphone, but they are clear enough to relate a delicately miraculous story.
as maxx and i played fetch on the beach in fort tilden – just a reminder; maxx lives to fetch – i came across a large, flat piece of seaglass.
it looked like it may have come from a glass brick……
……… or something like that.
reaching down to inspect whether it had “enough ocean-time” or wear and tear to qualify as seaglass, i noticed in profile, an ocean-deposited monarch butterfly, an unlucky piece of flotsam originally destined for a party in mexico laying flat on the sand.
i remember a monarch butterfly-note here a while back (i remember this because i added an image from the venture brothers cartoon character, “the monarch” and remarked on how hot doctor girlfriend was), early-on in my relationship with the grifting lizards with that eduardo ciannelli sounding guy – who looks like omar sharif – and before knowing my most-special friend who, like people and butterflies, matter so much to me here, in this little time on this little planet.
where was i?
i very gently picked it up and laid it on that piece of glassblock seaglass i mentioned.
maybe i was thinking about this image and shuddered at the thought.
it was then i noticed its antennae and legs moving slightly.
i was astounded.
i can’t say what came over me.
i don’t know why this sea-soaked butterfly mattered so much, but it did.
for the next four hours, this butterfly would affix itself to my hand, fingers or my clothing while it dried itself in the sun and ocean breeze, as we traveled slowly through those places; the marsh of the blue heron, the battlements, the paths – its wings flexing slowly and deliberately every now and again.
i sat in the sun at each place, cupping my hand around the monarch, protecting it from wind gusts.
an 82-year-old jogger walked by (he wasn’t jogging, but he needed to tell me that he usually does) but paid no mind to the butterfly, rather he discussed my relationship with my dog. he also told me about his own dog and the difficulty in walking a large dog while suffering from a hernia.
the whole time i continued to angle the monarch to the sun’s rays while maxx behaved perfectly.
my ninety-pound lapdog sensed i was involved in some serious business or at least i wanted to believe this.
we humans make this stuff up as we go along.
how else do we explain hope?
how else do we explain scared white people?
how else do we explain the obama presidency? ok…ok…sorry.
i believe a lot of illogical things. i’m a product of that behavior.
it makes all the sense in the world to me.
humanity is painted with a broad stroke by a crazy brush.
i’m not saying all that was going on in my mind while i nursed the monarch butterfly.
maybe i was thinking about my friend.
maybe i was thinking about luck.
i can’t remember.
i was probably thinking about that butterfly….
…and endless possibilities.