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I stood on the bank of the Hudson with my worn leather boots gripped in white. The cold dampness crept through the thinned rubber sole, yet my feet remained like the roots of a tree. Still and peaceful, with the exception of the large ice flow that moved South so fast it played tricks on the eyes. Groans of buckled ice gave it a powerful presence like the machine which twists old cars into blocks of steel. The only other sounds were sqwaks from ten to fifteen seagulls who rested on the snow blown ice feet from shore. In a swoop, they parted and swarmed a red pick up truck, which instinctively they detected as a regular source of food. They flew rounds above it in hopes the driver would return them his appreciation with tosses of stale bread, but within a few minutes, had lost hope and returned in a drove to the cold hard river, reassuming their position like miniature statues.

 

            The rat traps were covered by snow. One had to wonder if a rat would actually be happy to find refuge in one of those large plastic containers from this frozen ground; much like wrinkled toes which curled to conserve heat beneath the skin of a shoe. The dead straw blades which pierced the polished white bone, were as far as you could see; like an Eastern version of tumbleweed frozen by damp drafts of water that caught them instantaneously mooring them to their foundation. Still, the shit stains on the benches remained. After all the storms and snow, they lingered- sore on the eyes.  

            Behind the park and the nearby historic houses was a mountain. It was one of the many which seemed to present obstacles in winter weather. It’s lining a large mass of trees filled the land. The leaves had long gone and they stood like the sparse grey hair on an old man’s head. It wasn’t difficult to see the natural contours of land over the town, because the river had ground deep into the bedrock from it’s beginnings at the Falls to it’s emersion into the Atlantic Ocean, walls of stone in spots up and down the river. When you think only four hundred years ago, Henry Hudson saw the same stone markers you realize how mortal we are.

            To the Right, stood the Tappan Zee Bridge. The Tappan Zee was an engineering feat; something so simple to connect one side to the next, yet so complex to support hundreds of thousands of pounds every minute of every day for over fifty years was mind boggling. Yes, it has deteriorated and those blasted steel plates which were bolted to keep cars from falling through, were a minor nuisance, but it was old. As any person who might consider themselves full of wisdom, it had seen its day. They talk of a new bridge, the rebirth of a new engineering marvel which would support both cars and trains, even a bicycle path- but progress is slow, as well as the economy. In the meantime, fixer uppers will be the way to go.

            To the left stood a contemporary building complex, similar to one common in tropical regions. It was a surreal image which stood like a two dimensional model against the blue of clear sky. It’s geometric patterns were obviously a mathematical trigger to which early settlers could not construct. Given the homes against the landscape of the river, the new “settlement” felt out of place in Nyack. True, all towns and cities merge to embrace both old and new; in this moment of loneliness it seemed wrong, yet right.  

            There are times when nature is supposed to bring back well-being, cure deep seeded ills within a body, ills one can’t put their finger on, ones which can only be diagnosed by a local psychologist. Thoreau had Walden Pond, trees, grass, the small critters which found themselves investigating a strange creature on two legs. And here, we find the bridge. Not the Tappan Zee, but the bridge which stands between the worlds of nature and urban living. In balance, there should be an equal proportion of both. A park can do that.

            At Bryant Park in New York City a plaque detailed a study that had taken place in Europe on gardens in urban areas. It turned out there was less crime which bordered parks, in general, because people find beauty and safety surrounded by nature. I say this in general, because it’s true you can find violence in them- it’s unavoidable, yet there’s a retreat, a calm.

            Today, in the cold of a swollen ice filled river, there’s peace. Today is the inauguration of Barack Obama, our new president, with which there’s hope. Here I find the bridge, between old and new- here it is…. direct from the park.  

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