We were having a long walk, unencumbered by the usual distresses, the business of hyper-ventilating, of not knowing step by step what might happen. For Corky there were balloons and attached children; old men feeding pigeons—really, they still did that!; teenaged boys playing hacky-sack; joggers; descending spools of blown waste paper; statues; topiary gardens; one man on a unicycle. And the squirrels of New York: toxic, fast, survivors…
Someone had a transistor radio playing Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Lovely, weird, tempered joy among trees.
I recalled Joseph Campbell once saying: “You must have a room or a certain hour of the day or so, where you do not know who your friends are, you don’t know what you owe anybody or what they owe you—but a place where you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and what you might be…”
For us, that place was now anywhere, anywhere at all…
Planet of the Blind 