Whistle a Happy Tune

So I was starting to fear this blog was getting very Walt Disney, with me prancing along as I sang about flowers and butterflies and puppies. "How much of this do my internet buddies really need," I thought. "Most of them have gardens of their own, they don't need to look at flowers I didn't even plant."

Then I cast my mind forward to the Summer and realized that chances are very good I'll spend a lot of time snarling and spitting on the blog when the weather turns sweltering. Some of you might agree I've been a bit too Mr. Rogers of late, but come July you may be taking up an online collection to have me sedated. Or at least muzzled.

So I decided I'd gush about another great walk, and show you more things I thought were pretty. Come, hold my hand as we skip cheerfully through two more of New York's parks.

The pansies above record the first time I and the camera agreed on the shade of purple on the very first try. They're also a partial answer (a resounding 'yes') to Gillian's question as to whether I love purple pansies. An even stronger response is at the bottom of the page. In that photo I'd say most of the blossoms are the shade my eye saw, though a few are more blue than they should be. No idea what made the difference there; they all seemed lit the same way to me. The conversation with my camera goes on.


Pink is a shade to which I am largely indifferent, since I consider it nothing more than pastel red, and most pastels leave me cold. I'm rethinking this stance however, especially as I see more shades of pink that edge close to purple. On Thursday my walk took me through St. Nicholas and Morningside Parks. I smelled these roses (above) before I saw them; the scent was unmistakable. It's easy to forget why people make such a fuss over roses, when all one comes in contact with are the scentless ones sold in the stores. I do find the scent glorious. Maybe that inclined me to be more appreciative of the color. It's awfully cheerful, don't you think? The flowers to the right are in Morningside Park. They had no scent I could discern, but having been enticed in by the roses earlier, I was able to appreciate them more readily too.

While the camera seems reluctant to give purple its due, I discovered that day that it loves dramatic skies. In fact I'd say it makes things look more dramatic than they actually were. I think I've remarked before that just as I need greenery on a regular basis, I've finally realized I also need big sky, and far-off horizons. Not until it's lifting do I notice how much I am suffering from urban claustrophobia.

Thursday was a windy day, with threats of storms, and I was walking after 5pm, so the sun was at an exciting angle. Several times I saw something that looked almost like a monochrome Toledo; the image above comes the closest. Okay, I went a little apeshit on the cloud photographs, but I'll just share two of my favorites. The sense of space made me expand.


In Morningside I visited one of my favorite sculptures. I was one of those kids who fell in love with Greek mythology at a very early age, reading gentle, child-friendly version of those raw, primal stories. That, and Disney's Fantasia, led me to identify particularly with fauns. (I also adored Amazons, which led me to adore Wonder Woman. I'm less clear on what that says about me now.) As with violets and purple, over the years I've learned more adult-only reasons why I, as a nature-loving homo, might have a special bond with fauns. Their connection with Pan, and by association Dionysus, is just one. The first time I ever saw this statue, I especially appreciated that it was a faun and a bear. My boyfriend at the time adores bears (the animal, though he has no objection to the gay kind that I know of), so I liked the fact that here was an image that combined two of our respective icons. I looked forward to telling him about it; then it hit me. We had just ended a five year relationship the night before. I was out walking, in fact, in order to clear my head and exhaust my body because of the break-up. This was the first, but by no means the last time I would see something, make a note of it to share with him later, then have the crashing recollection that we weren't really sharing those little moments anymore. He and I have evolved a good friendship, thankfully. He's still one of my favorite people. I think this was the first time I was able to look at the statue without feeling sad, though. Such funny gauges of change and healing I have.

At first I wasn't sure if the bear was cornering the faun, or just waving hello. I'm still not completely sure, but nothing about the faun's expression or body language makes me think he's frightened. Enlarge the image for yourselves, and tell me what you think. Bears were sacred to Artemis; fauns, as I said, were sacred to Pan and Dionysus. All three were nature deities. I'm not aware of any special animosity between any of them, though Artemis was something of a loner, while Dionysus loved a good party. There's a story about how amethyst was created that involves them both.

Yes, I realize I'm spinning far too much out of this little fountain; it's what I do. There does seem to be some fun story there, though, don't you think? Oh yes, it's a working drinking fountain, see the lower right in the first picture. Nice of the faun to be looking after some one's hat. It's clearly not his; there are no holes for his horns.

Near to the fountain is a small pond. I attempted to photograph some turtles swimming, and got this result instead. This may have been what tipped me off to try the sky photos.

Below is the pond, and a view of the little cascade. I love water in all its forms, with special mention for waterfalls. Maybe it's the flat-lander's appreciation of elevation changes. Maybe it's my love of water combined with my love of movement. (Mountain streams please me in a way that big lazy rivers don't.) Whatever it is, they are magical to me. The statue is just around the corner on the right.

Below you can actually see a couple of the turtles. Someone who knows more about this than me says they're red-eared turtles, which are not indigenous; they're probably former pets that were dumped here for some reason.

I've seen them swimming about in all seasons, so they appear to be surviving just fine, while not destroying the habitat. There appear to be dozens of them in the pond. I have occasionally seen a white heron here too; I assume it's the same one I would occasionally see at a pond in Central Park, about thirty blocks south of here. If it's two different herons, I hope they know about each other.

Seinfeld - and Suzanne Vega- fans may recognize this diner. I passed it on my way home from Morningside Park.

Hmm. Dramatic clouds, nice scents, waterfalls, purple, fauns... some of my favorite things all packed into one lovely saunter. And I didn't even show you the (impossible to see) duck photo, nor the (blurry) photo of the flute player on the train home. He was playing a familiar song but I don't know the name. You know, the one that goes "la da da da DA dada, la de dada da..." I think it's Mozart. Or maybe Bartok. Philip Glass? No, definitely Mozart.

Yeah, I'm definitely in Chipper-Charlie mode for the time being. Today is grey, cloudy, and ten degrees below the average temperature for this time of year. I couldn't be more delighted. Tell me to come read this post in a few weeks when I'm spitting nails and you want to hit me with a brick. I still have to tell you about yet another soul-restoring dinner with good friends that occurred on Saturday. That, like the park walks, seems to be turning into one of this blog's leitmotifs. For now.