Even in the middle of Brooklyn and Queens, amid rows of brownstone with electrical wires draped everywhere like dark Christmas lights. Amid the gag inducing smells of cigarette smoke, puke, and car exhaust, I can step outside, feel a warm breeze in the middle of February hinting at the distant spring, smell clean air as a breeze caresses my cheeks, and gaze up at the almost full moon. The few bright stars that are visible. And surrender deep to beauty profound as the beginning of time. And all is well and glorious and endlessly big.
Like little rain puddles in the road, that when stepped in, go down hundreds of feet like a bore hole. So stepping into them makes you plunk down into the puddle like someone who's just stepped into a manhole. And if you wanted, if you could breath underwater, you could just keep sinking down into it for as long as you wanted, never touching bottom.
I'm not sure if this makes sense. I'm just trying to describe a feeling, with gratitude. There's beauty to be had, even among the ugly. So much. It's surprising to find it even here. Like surprisingly deep puddles in the road.
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