Beyond the reach of the summer heat… with Brian S

A New York summer usually feels like you’re sticking your head into an oven. The heat seeps into the concrete and steel and sits so heavy on the air you think at times it might smother you. But at the end of those summer days, when the sun has swung low and the asphalt is left to smolder, my husband and I saunter down the old cobblestone streets of Brooklyn and feel the cool evening settle upon the shipyards. The sun nestles itself in a sea of neon that silhouettes the city skyline, its light dancing on the shattered glass that litters empty warehouses. Electric colored graffiti streaks in spray painted whorls across the rusted fences that run the sidewalks’ edge. Our shadows stretch and dance among buildings and empty lots filled with scrap parts.

With fingers intertwined we walk to the end of a pier, to a place where the wild winds whip the waves into frenzy on the rocks and we can see the whole of New York City, brimming with light and splendor and promise.On certain days the heat lingers into the night like a guest overstaying his welcome, and often I find myself dreaming that we climb the railing and lower ourselves to the rocks below. We toss our shoes and strip our clothes, our skin prickling with goose bumps as we step with abandon into the dusky waters and sink down, deep beyond the reach of the summer heat.

Originally published at

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