Red Hook

I went to Red Hook.       Change is what kept me. I've always been afraid of it. Something so arbitrary, yet essential. Inevitable really. It is more like reluctance than fear. Waiting by a window for it. That anticipation. The smell of winter. The budding bloom of color in Spring. I look at my dying plants, because there is never quite enough light, and the thought of ending it, possibly changing the landscape makes me uneasy. Maybe it’s the letting go more than the change.        I went to Red Hook.         Thoughts of change. A city of change. Constant. Moving around like yellow cabs or sleepwalking city dwellers. Stop and go. Stop. Go. Thank G*d I’m here and not there. That’s too much change, too fast. I let go all the time. Honest, I do. Getting used to that was never easy. Not with all the dried flowers in my room. And even that kind of change is palatable. The easing into. Slow moving change. Candle wax and sandy scrolls and ever-changing patterns in the sky.        I went to Red Hook.        I hated not knowing. So I went. Maybe they’ve changed? And what if I haven’t? I’m still here while they rotate right along with everything else. Or what if I’ve changed? And my change is just plain different. So different that going no longer matters and you end up with nothing but letting go.        I made it to Red Hook.        I realized it didn’t matter. I have changed, but was willing to rub up against theirs. Fearless. Letting go, but also taking in. Just my thoughts that kept me. Too much thinking. Something worse than change. I got there and was hooked. Like the red of a flower still standing up straight. I got there and was hooked.