I was in NYC two days ago visiting my sister who was there for work.
It was the perfect summer night, with the faintest whisper of fall in the air. We walked to the East River promenade and saw…
… the Brooklyn Bridge, the neighborhood centerpiece.
Another place I once called home. Even after a dozen years, still can’t come to grips with the fact that that world is gone. But the beacons — poignant and defiant — filled that emotional void ever so slightly.
Of all the neighborhoods I’ve lived in in the Apple, Brooklyn Heights has always been it for me. A village in the middle of the city. Lots of greenery, gracious brownstones — and that view of Manhattan, which was always great, but never as grand as the other night.