Sunday on 5th Avenue

 airplanes make me happy, airports are usually so well curated. except Kennedy airport, the delta terminal has birds inside, and leaks in the roof  are gathered into little buckets,  but familiar, like an old car. All I had to do was go to east 88 street.

 the metropolitan museum had forsythia framed by black Egyptian statues, flaming yellow in the sun, i looked at the floor mosaic

 which floor mosaic was very comforting. small children, talking in other languages made me feel at home

 then there is the Velazquez, the early one of Christ talking to his disciples on the road to Emmaus, a little meditation on the material and the spirit, the touched world and the invisible world.  The self portrait is now called a Velazquez, no longer school of Velazquez, and was thinking it looked a little funny, then a tour group came around the guide started talking about its recent cleaning...i was just about to do a Frank Mason, and stop the tour and say, the painting, its ruined, its ruined, which it is, but i didn't say anything, what could I say?

 in the American wing there are oceans, then there is Winslow Homer, now he was an ocean. and the painting, almost an illustration, of the girls listening to stories, his daughters, i think.
And the Daniel Chester French, the grave monument, which always appealed to my morbid love of the beautiful.

 Winslow Homer and David Shannon, i think it is called Jungle Tales.

 The best bus anywhere in the world is the 5th avenue bus. Warm, enveloping, friendly, filled with light, not too fast.

 I am beginning to think about hotels like i think of airplanes, restful, they make the bed, everything in the right place, new soap, and a view of Madison avenue.

This circle meditation happens on 5th avenue in front of the Guggenheim museum.