1. 30 May


    5.11.12 173 ST. Between BOSTON RD and CROTONA PARK EAST I was drawn to this young tree because it already had a tie around it’s trunk. There appeared to be a history of damage- a barkless scar where there once was a limb- and the little plastic ribbon around the tree made me think of a futile bandage. It was a newly planted city tree growing from a good sized tree bed, and surrounded by mulch, and probably did not urgently need to be serviced. I got to work anyhow. Who knows what I’ll find? As I was working, an elderly gentleman passed by. He was dressed in very well kept sporty clothes from head to toe. He walked passed slowly, and turned around to have a second look at what I was doing. I could sense someone’s eyes on me, so I looked up and greeted the gentleman.  There was a long silent pause. He never once removed his gaze from my smiling countenance , and after what seemed like an eternity, without a reciprocating smile or a nod, he stoically turned his back to me and continued to walk up the hill. I was uncertain how to interpret the interaction, and felt just a little melancholy as I returned to the work at hand. As I did so, the Icy Peddler I’d moments ago seen, rolled his pushcart in the street up the hill toward Crotona Park. A very curious loneliness was left in his wake.

    5.11.12

    173 ST. Between BOSTON RD and CROTONA PARK EAST

    I was drawn to this young tree because it already had a tie around it’s trunk. There appeared to be a history of damage- a barkless scar where there once was a limb- and the little plastic ribbon around the tree made me think of a futile bandage. It was a newly planted city tree growing from a good sized tree bed, and surrounded by mulch, and probably did not urgently need to be serviced.

    I got to work anyhow. Who knows what I’ll find?

    As I was working, an elderly gentleman passed by. He was dressed in very well kept sporty clothes from head to toe. He walked passed slowly, and turned around to have a second look at what I was doing. I could sense someone’s eyes on me, so I looked up and greeted the gentleman. 

    There was a long silent pause. He never once removed his gaze from my smiling countenance , and after what seemed like an eternity, without a reciprocating smile or a nod, he stoically turned his back to me and continued to walk up the hill.

    I was uncertain how to interpret the interaction, and felt just a little melancholy as I returned to the work at hand. As I did so, the Icy Peddler I’d moments ago seen, rolled his pushcart in the street up the hill toward Crotona Park. A very curious loneliness was left in his wake.