grace

I dug a hole in the ground using the heel of my white sneakers. I popped a seed bomb into the shallow hole and then covered it over with dirt.

I waved to friends in their fourth floor apartment from across the BQE expressway. Then I remembered that this household has, within its quarantined walls, a young ballet student. So I moved as far left as a I could go, stood in B+, and tombé pas de bourée-glissade-grande jetéd the length of the sidewalk. My jeans were tight so I couldn’t get the lift I would’ve liked and, to be very honest, as I was glissading and preparing to jeté, I thought to myself, wow, this would be a bad time to break your ankle but by that point I was mid-air and the thought flew away. I landed safely.

I continued my walk north up the hill toward Brooklyn Heights. I stopped to watch my step, I moved out of peoples’ way, I looked up at the brownstones and tripped a couple times. The face mask is a bit of a hindrance. I found a dead end street which in Brooklyn Heights is just a quieter street that leads to spectacular views, quiet private courts, and/or secret gardens. I stumble upon a row of rambling old buildings that have long back garden lots ending in locked gates on Grace Court. I slowed my walk and spied into each one. I saw no movement. I took pictures as documents of my faraway travels here. Just looking at something different, something real, felt intoxicating. I wanted inside, but it was nice just to peek.