I saw the new Met fountains tonight. They’re pretty. And nice to touch.
There are two of them. One on either side of the stairs. Big giant flat square things with shooting water arches. I didn’t take a picture because it was too dark, but I took a picture of the two tree-lined walkways instead. Also on either side of the stairs.
When I walked through the first mini-grove, the fountains were shooting and spraying Bellagio-style, but they calmed down by the time I passed the stairs. When I got to the second fountain, the water was still and flat. And it was so much nicer like that.
I didn’t stop to stare. Instead, I walked swiftly past, resting my hand on the surface of the water and sliding it across. It was cold. And dark. And dense-feeling. And my right hand was jealous and wanted a taste.
So I dipped it in at the last second–right as I reached the edge of the fountain–and then I walked through the second grove of trees and headed home. A tiny touch of symmetry in my asymmetrical existence.
Streets Walked: Clarkson St. to Hudson St. to Leroy St. to West Side Highway to Morton St. to Bleecker St. to Cornelia St. to 6th Ave. to 59th St. to 5th Ave. to 108th St. to Park Ave. to 118th St. to Home
Sights Seen: The Met fountains