It’s an island thing.
That great big sky? A sense of the vast just beyond the shoreline? The light can run riot on the coast next the sea.
Everywhere you look on a small island, there is that great skyscape craning over, so dominant it could almost consume the island in light.
We sat in the spectacular planetarium at the Museum of Natural History, New York, this morning, watching the story of the stars. Our closest star, we were told, was born millions of years ago. And ever since, it has held a galaxy in its thrall, a conjuror dazzling anyone who will watch with deft sleight of hand; tricks of the light.
And here I sit on Manahatta, the Native American name for the island of Manhattan.
For thousands of years, men have watched the star’s light glow round this outrageously well-appointed island between two rivers, an island which stands sentry to rich farmland up river.
The Algonquin a thousand years ago, gazed at this starlight, with its ethereal glow, from their long houses made of tree saplings. The tiny Dutch settlement of the seventeenth century made barely an impression on the vast surrounding skies, but inexorably, the English changed and organised, populated and developed; and with independence, businessmen carved a path, not across Manahatta – for one can only go so far when one is on an island – but upwards, colonising the jurisdiction of the light of our closest star.
So that now the city has the light imprisoned in a grid.
As I walk on my way through the city of New York, I cross roads in the time allotted and gaze down their length. And at the end of these great man-made canyons, lined with skyscrapers, the light waits.
And though I have a tight schedule, I fight a wild desire to turn away from my plans and run towards the light at the end of the street which still sits singing on the shore, though men don’t listen quite so much these days.
We trailed home at sunset this evening, and every time we crossed the street and looked, the sky was a different colour as the sun set. I am not sure how the light at the end of the street felt about its neon cousins which fill the night sky within the canyons.
Manahatta and the light, they are soul brothers. They know each other like the back of their hands. But as is wont to happen with brothers, one will always dominate the other. The light must do what Manahatta tells it to.
But it won’t always be that way.One day, the light will have the upper hand.
Nothing lasts forever. Not a city,not the island. One day, we were told this morning,even the sun and its distinctive gift of light will perish.
All things must pass.
Kate Shrewsday 
there has probably been too much light to see the Perseids pass – as they just did – but it sounds as if Manhattan is starry enough
It has its fair share of bright lights, Elspeth..
“I’ll take Manhattan, the Bronx and Staten Island too….” You sound like you’re having a great time. Any chance to see a Broadway show?
Me too. Same quote was streaming my wee brain.
No: we’re New York on a budget, Gale. But we’ll stand outside and gawp 😀
Wonderful, Kate. To see the light.
You and your clan are certainly packing a great deal into your stay on Manahatta.
It feels frenetic. Penny!
It is a fascinating city, but as I only spent time there during daylight, I missed the canyons of sunset
Gosh! Sounds like a flying visit, Sidey!
It was, between new jersey and the airport, 1 day
Kate, I’m glad you’re continuing to enjoy your time with the bright lights in my big city.
A great time was had by all, Lame.
Certainly a new angle to contemplate the fall of the Manhattan buildings as a spot of light relief! It must still be a wonderful experience to see it all, even if it doesn’t reflect one’s chosen style of living. I do love the defiant roof garden.
Not the fall of Manhattan, exactly; just the vastness of the timescale on which this island functions. I have been doing a lot of delving into prehistoric and historic Manhattan; put it all into context, Col.
Wonderful word, Manhatta. Never heard it before. The first two pictures are great, but I’m mad for the second one. Not very happy to hear about the sun. Wish you’d kept that to yourself…we’re going away next week so I’ll blame you.
All the best, Roger – where are you off to? I think the Sun might be able to hold it together for that time at least.
I’ve always viewed NYC as a series of canyons, and I inevitably try not to walk into people while craning my head up. The curse of being married to an architect.
It sounds like you are having an amazing time.
It was packed with event, Andra. So much to see!
Love seeing NYC through your fresh eyes. Still, I’ve always preferred the light to the canyons. That’s why I live out west, where the skies are vast and unobscured.
The light is vey beautiful here, PT, when you can glimpse it. It has a special quality.
the light… which still sits singing on the shore,/em> – I like that, has a feel of the peoples who used to sing on those shores long before the white man came…. And then too, especially on viewing the pics, I am reminded of Leonard Cohen, who sings (in Ring the Bells): There is a gap in everything – that’s how the light gets in.
sorry, looks like i goofed up on the html there
Apologies for getting to this late, BB! That’s a really beautiful quote. I must remember it.
Sounds beautiful! I bet the skyline was amazing as the sun went down and the stars twinkled in the sky.
It really was, Belle 🙂
City lights are no competition for the rising and setting sun … and the light of the moon. Love your photos, Kate.
Thanks, Judy. It was quite a sight, every time I looked down a canyon.
Great perspective on tripping the light fantastic! Hope you continue to enjoy the afterglow. 😀
Thanks, Nancy.
Simply beautiful, Kate. You’ve done it again…provided a fresh way to enjoy an island and magnificent city. Drink it all in until the very last…
We did, Debra. 🙂 Thanks!
Such a beautiful read Kate! I could relate to the note of wistfulness that runs through this post. Enjoying your refreshing perspective on New York 🙂
Thanks, Madhu 🙂
Beautiful, beautiful words. 🙂