Toasting together.

I didn't go to work one day this week and found myself doing something very simple - wandering in Central Park, which is particularly marvelous and a wonder when filled with September sun and not filled with weekend bodies. Well-manicured emptiness. Green nuggets of swirly water (to a concerning point - perhaps there is an invasive algae situation here). I went to one of my favorite spots - the semi-concealed rock near the Boat House, which even on weekends stays bare. There, was she:



She was sunning. I took off my boots and sweater and joined her, sitting close and turning my nostrils directly to meet the sun's stare, in imitation. Four fixed holes (mine aren't perfect orbits like hers, but almost). She wasn't scared of me like some of her friends, who would pull themselves from the water to find me mock-reptiling and recall their afternoon plans to backtrack back into the water.



She tarried on and we sat together. She let me get really close. I admired the stripes on her eyes.





When she decided she needed to move on, she turned to face the green water and saluted, sticking her back left foot into the air - waving it to me. It really was for me. No question.



And off she went.