Two weeks ago, I went out onto Valentino Peer in the rain. It was a drizzle plunging the bay in a looming fog. First the sound of quacking, like a bird conversation moving in from the fog, and then the geese returning to Canada flew by. They like having a quiet repose on the lawns of the empty Governors Island.
This vision foreshadowed our nomadic nature as we prepare ourselves for departure. New York is no repose, but a stop of sorts on a long migrating journey of the souls.
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