Is it convenient or happenstance that one comes across a phonograph on the corner of Perseverance Park? There could be many places for such unconventional convenience. It’s resisting to place that needle on the spinning record that’s the difficult part. Not having a soundtrack feels empty, sometimes.
Cue the Tommy Dorsey:
The Mischief of Our Stars
And here we go, strolling down the sidewalk in the nighttime. And it’s beautiful —
Syracuse. It’s a dim city in terms that the street and lamp and building lights
aren’t overly obtrusive. It’s quiet, because we all have to sleep … well, some
of us anyway, and it’s not necessarily by choice. Sleep happens. It comes up on us.
The sensually lit City of Syracuse —
Downtown — is perfect enough for romanticism
strolls with whirs
of swinging hands and off-tempo tapping soles. The faint
sounds of rushing fountain bursts can be
complimented in another part of the city, considering a cement- or iron-
work with roaring spouting streams that arc into pools — droplets, smiling, swan-
dive confidently. Listening closely,
multiple streams parallel a symphony.
Dining al fresco is always an option, so rest
your heels. A quick bite for a slight appetite is
complimented with sweet or robust sips traversing over glazed
or through the cracks of au naturel lips. Crème brûlée — as
Bittersweet‘s and never bittersweet — melting
velvet upon an anticipatory tongue feels like
the actual easing and relaxing ice cream atop
a brownie — a la mode.
One thing that the Syracuse suburbs and the city have in common — aside the same area code — is the ability to see stars! Yes, those glowing specks of fury that are light years away that could flicker out dead before our eyelids open fully. For me it always was King Memorial Park — as an example — of the finely open areas to observe the stars. Those places where you could just lie flat and stare up — if a bench was not present. There are plenty of places during this growing up process: the neighborhood backyards, while feeling the breeze cocoon you during the pendulum sway on the swing set, the bridge over the river in Baldwinsville, Thayer Park in Skaneateles, the Silverman Planetarium at the Museum of Science and Technology.
But Syracuse City, I tell you, the stars are visible for all to see. They are there! Leave your pessimistic perspectives at the pub, and allow another to pick up that tab. Stroll on over to Clinton Square while hopping in the pools of lamplight — one foot lands in one, your other foot leaps to another, and keep that pattern towards your destination. Where one leads, the other shall follow.
And be sure to dip her as the water columns geyser with a tour de force crescendo that blazes as prominently as the beginning of a horn solo.
And crusted coated custard is much easily consumable
than the cone carrying cream, iced, similar
to that of which is pinned to the sky,
a flickering connect-the-dot blueprint, piecing
together as one Boötes, who is
simply taking a break from keeping those
Ursas in check. As the hardworking
may rest his head upon a rock, the actual
bears of the sky, those people bellowing
everlasting arguments through saliva sleeked snappers,
are continually going at it every day and night, every
hour and second.
And there is a reason to be held in high
regard, being fastened upside down
for worse circumstances —
these circumpolar companions can’t cope
with being contradicted, as we all are
conflicted — due to
(how dare they?!?)
the sacrifice of one’s own blood,
because blanketed beauty boasts blatant blind belittling,
and that egotistical endeavors end almost excruciatingly. (But
lucky for you that dip of yours ends upright.) For that hero
finally arrives, appears appropriately on that white-winged
horse of confidence and presents —
not shackles and anklets of steel —
a ring of admiration looping hearts together
by veins-to-veins, nerves-to-nerves,
spirit to spirit.
(Although this record slowly stops,
always sooner than anticipated,
the needle waits to be replaced.)
For explanations on the writing process behind this piece and others,
please visit The Infinite Abyss(es) every Thursday, late afternoon.
Feature Photo (above): Maria B. Smith (Bittersweet Website)