NYC at night is a beautiful gift. or rather a
city enveloped in dazzling and glitzy paper with strange geometrically shaped
buildings wrapped in sparkling diamonds of light. All of this was displayed before
me as I climbed the Ed Koch/59th Street/Queensboro Bridge. Even at
this early hour, a drowsy attitude could be dangerous at this altitude in
trying to avoid other cyclists or pedestrians either climbing up the mile and a
quarter ascent to the apex of the bridge to Manhattan or flying down from the summit
into Queens. With each revolution of the crankcase the bicycle rose incrementally
like a roller coaster click-clanking cog by cog to the top of the summit. As I
rose above sea level the temperature dropped and the wind increased creating
black ice which could easily leave the rider splayed out on the asphalt and at
the mercy of speeding cyclists which I had experienced on previous occasions. Icy
crystals grew in my nose as my heart pounded and lungs inhaled the cold crisp
air. Toes and fingertips were the first casualties as numbness crept into the
digits.
Having successfully crossed the expanse of the bridge streaking down the far side, much to the chagrin of climbing cyclists, I pedaled up 60th street to Fifth Avenue turning left and passing the giant Menorah brightly lit at 59th street, followed by the Plaza Hotel dressed in lights and evergreens and then FAO Schwartz a bright, bold, gleaming child’s dream of a store. I flew down Fifth Avenue past all the high-end jewelry stores Cartier, Tiffany, Bergdorf Goodman, Harry Winston and all the rest, wrapped in bows, wreaths and lights like huge gifts prepared for a giant’s child. I arrived at 51st and Rockefeller Center and walked my bike right up to the tree fully lit and standing alone except for the security guards that now focused their attention on me as a potential terrorist, activist, extremist, miscreant, or possibly just one of the crazy people that inhabited NYC after dark.
The tree was as tall as the tallest building in most towns, but here it was dwarfed by the towering skyscrapers in Rockefeller Center. Beautiful and radiant it glowed and shined in the halo of 50,000 lights intricately woven through its branches. The thick aroma of pinecones permeated the air, and the cones were as plentiful as ornaments on the tree.
Less than ten hours ago the annual
extravaganza with all its razzmatazz, hoopla, and honky-tonk had taken place
right here with singers, dancers, musicians, jugglers and ice skaters all vying
for their moment of attention and fame. Dazzling and extreme, the climax was
the lighting of the tree. With over a million spectators in attendance and national
tv coverage there was no chance to get within blocks of the tree. It was
surreal that a few hours later I was standing here alone except for my personal
entourage of security guards as if I owned Trump Tower!
“Thank you for coming to see me, it is most
appreciated,” said the tree bending forward and embracing me in its bows. A
chatter, low, but noticeable could be heard as the uneasy guards talked to each
other on their walkie-talkies.
“It was necessary,” I said, unsure of proper etiquette
in such situations, never having conversed with a tree before.
“There were too many people here last night to
see your lighting. This is much better and so much more personal,” I exclaimed.
“Well, I’m glad you decided to come back when we
could have a proper conversation,” the massive evergreen expressed.
“Correct me if I am wrong but trees cannot
talk, can they?” I interjected.
“Well, that seems to be a moot point as I am
talking to you now,” said the tree.
“Do you see the curious ironic situation I
find myself in? An evergreen, a symbol of eternal life, fecund, in the prime of
my life cut at the trunk to die a slow death as my sap slowly dries up and I
wither before the whole world! From what I had heard, the plan was to dig me
up, place me in an enormous planter and feed and water me for the duration of
my stay here in New York City, then bring me back home to be replanted. I want
to go home, having had my fill of life in the big city! I want to get back to
my roots! As it stands now, in six months, I’ll be a bunch of 2x4’s or
toothpicks for Jimmy Carter, creating homes for Habitat for Humanity! Not that
it is a bad thing,” said the tree quite flummoxed.
“I’m so sorry that you were misinformed,” I replied.
“This all started out so simply with a twenty-foot tree bought by the construction workers who built Rockefeller Center back
in 1931, with homemade ornaments created by their families, and look at how
involved and complicated it has become now,” said the tree!
“Yes, it has really branched out," I
exclaimed trying to inject levity into the situation.
“Yes, indeed it certainly has,” said the tree.
“Well, I’m sorry but I must get going. I need
to get to work on time,” I exclaimed.
When I started to pedal away, Dawn was rising
in the east wiping the sleep from her eyes, her wisps of brilliant colored light
encompassing the entire spectrum winding around the buildings and lighting the
sky. As she grew in strength tossing her luminous locks, the electric lights on
the tree faded in comparison, unable to compete with her magnificence. I
pedaled on down Fifth Avenue to Lord & Taylor’s to see the wonderful mechanical
animated windows and then southeast and off to work at N.Y.U.
Jim
Dec 2022
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