Living in the world of whatever I am writing is my favorite place to be, but sometimes it's helpful to step outside--literally. The terrace is tiny, and high over a Chelsea crosstown street, but it is just outside my office door, and there is room for an herb garden. I grow cilantro, sage, rosemary, and thyme, and this year I have tomato plants. We'll see what they do.
Looking east at sunset, Manhattan is painted brick red. 
Looking west at the Hudson River and Hoboken I feel so lucky to have a glimpse of water. The boats go by, and my dreams seem to follow them. The weather changes can be subtle or dramatic, but they transform the landscape constantly. Every minute the view could be of a different city. This is true wherever we are. Clouds, clear sky, shadows, darkness change the outward details, take our imaginations in different directions. I take photos of the same scene, over and over, because I'm in awe the play of light, the drift of shadows, the way it never stays the same. Claude Monet, I get the haystacks.
Last week a family knows as the Chelsea Ravens fledged. They were nesting on a building just east of here, up on the roof amid gargoyles and water towers.
They play in the sky, and I watch them dive-bomb each other. I'm not the only one who watches. And the ravens aren't the only ones who play.
