The Tree’s Knees

Wednesday, 19 March 2003, Central Park West

It tumbled pell mell through the clear sky above the city and crashed head first into the ground. From the shoulders up, it’s lodged firmly in the soil, hidden from passersby. Its sturdy legs, in plain sight, are permanently poised as if to dash off at a moment’s notice, a la Hermes (the messenger god, not the designer).
Underground, its mouth is wide open, toothless, screaming, life and limb, to be released, yet not being heard above.
Just another day on Central Park West!