Saturday, February 17, 2024

Study In Monochrome

Katie stops to take a picture of the ducks huddled on the freezing pond, giving me an excuse to lean on the fence bordering the path to rest. I’ve foolishly left my cane at home to walk through the snowy park with the rest of Brooklyn after last night’s storm, and although I’m not regretting it yet, the faint but insistent clamoring of my knee and hip tells me I will be soon. 

The trees overhanging the path are covered in white, fluffy snow - the platonic ideal of snow, the kind of snow that they try to simulate in movies with flocking and chemicals they’re considering banning under the Geneva Convention - and the trees stand wet and black, stark against the white and grey around the perimeter of the pond.

The ducks ignore us in the quiet, paddling through the unfrozen, glossy water and cutting dark paths through the thin, matte ice that glazes the surface, and I look up to watch a plane push itself slowly across a matte grey sky.  

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