Temple of Dendur

I’ve always maintained that I was born in the wrong century, or at least born with an old soul. When other folks go to Manhattan, they shop and drink and party. When I go to Manhattan, I seek out spots of solitude, seeing the City That Never Sleeps as being an oddly fitting setting for contemplation.

Wide-eyed

Gary and I were in Manhattan for three days, and during that time I sought out three of my favorite quiet spots: the old (and old-fashioned) dioramas at the American Museum of Natural History, the wending pathways of Central Park, and several quiet spots at the Metropolitan Museum. When I refer to these as quiet spots, I don’t intend to suggest that these places are devoid of people: everywhere in New York is crowded the week before Christmas. Instead, these are places where I can pause and visit a place that it neither ancient nor modern, a place that carries spots of tranquility amidst the rushing throngs.

Bathed in light

In a city renowned for its shopping (and in a season devoted to said pursuit), I spent less than $30 on purchases this weekend, buying a $13 scarf to replace the one I lost and $15 for a set of NYC walking tour cards. In a city renowned for its night life, this weekend I imbibed something less than one beer over dinner with Annette, the winter-brisk lights of Times Square being ample intoxication for a simple soul.

Stories in stone

When you take a Country Mouse to the Big City, she spends her time seeking out things she can understand: solid stone and shadowy corners and spots of sunlight. I love the rush of bodies that is Manhattan…but sometimes being near the fire is as good as touching it. Mine is an old soul born in an inopportune time, yet sometimes in a solitary instance even an old soul comes home.