there is this to know: all walks to the sea are not equal. in one place reaching the sea means scrambling over wooden wharfs and down along craggy rocks, skinning the bottoms of your bare feet on barnacles. in another place it means crossing a highway, wending your way down concrete sidewalks, past hollowed-out factories and quiet ports until the asphalt gives way to cobblestones and you know that you’re on to something good. different, maybe, but good, still.
for me these walks to the sea have been a life-long habit. when there hasn’t been the sea, there have been rivers and in those places the way the sun glints off the water has been enough to set things right.
on tuesday, my walk was to red hook, brooklyn. on that walk it was the air, mostly, that let me know i was close. that perfect glow of salty sunlight that only the sea can produce. along the way there was a dear friend and at the end of it, a brooklyn brew and the setting sun.