Dear J—
Cranes are everywhere here. Clunky scaffolding and towering cranes obscure the city’s shine. I thought of you when I saw these and I thought of our conversations, our love/hate relationship with all they represent. There is no greater indication of change to a city than these, and change here feels bittersweet.
Aqua green veils cover the faces of buildings. Mouths, eyes, the whole face, leaving nothing exposed. I don’t know why, but that, coupled with a flock of giant, immovable steel cranes with their arms outstretched creates a strange poetry I can’t ignore. I’m not saying it’s beautiful—not quite there yet—I’m just saying it’s poetry. The funny thing is, I’m already a few days in, and the sight and feel of their presence is starting to feel as natural to the cityscape as tall grass in a field. You get used to it, I suppose. I’m almost tempted to call it a strange kind of beautiful, whatever that means, but like I said, I’m not quite there yet. The cranes promise to gift beauty when they leave. The thing is, they never depart, they just migrate to another part of town. I’m hopeful.
Remember when we used to sing together, you with the melody in mezzo soprano and me harmonizing in alto? Look at what we stumbled upon today. The conductor, you would have loved him. He used his whole body to conduct, but his arms did most of the work. He became those cranes, digging into those voices to unearth beauty from their lungs. Wings flap and move the air. Air vibrates and we call it music.
I remembered your voice and imagined you in the chorus, singing beside the woman in the back row with her hands clasped behind her back. After less than a minute of listening, I felt like a note in the weaving of our frequencies.
