An Early October Meditation
Dog business on a Saturday morning walkabout
The dog is especially urgent to head out this morning. He sits, staring at me with his ears out wide, as I try to savor my first cup of coffee. I almost let him out the back courtyard to “do his business,” the command he understands when it’s time to stop smelling every wet spot on the sidewalk and go. Instead, I throw on some sweats and head out even earlier than our normal weekday routine.
The morning is sunny and crisp, maybe not yet into the sixties. The cooler air feels appropriate at about thirty-two hours into October.
We are one of numerous human-dog pairs strolling the Saturday-quiet streets. We head toward The Metropolitan Museum, away from the slanted sun behind us. Arriving on Fifth, the north side of The Met plaza, usually calm on the weekends early before the line begins to form, is a beehive of activity among a tangle of rigging, curtain separators, and a shiny metallic blue and chrome booth. Near the booth is a large table stocked with fall flowers, the thick velvety kind. A group of three, kneeling around water-filled buckets, appears to be sorting the pile into bouquets. The Koch fountain, usually a loud cascade of water, is shut off and surrounded by the metal barriers that usually line parade routes. Between the fountain and the central stairs, a stage has been set up. A tight squeeze. The sound crew is plugging cables into black mixers. The sound check is moments away. The stage lighting is purplish — maybe to match the flowers that are coming.
The few pedestrians have inquisitive faces like mine. We wonder what’s going on. I interrupt one of the Met employees wearing the brown uniform of the maintenance crew. His darker brown cropped jacket has The Met in white over the heart. Through his mask, he tells me they’re setting up for The Met Fest later that afternoon. He barely looks up. He is rifling through pages and pages of notes, busy and likely stressed. One of his crew, a young woman also in brown and mask, is speed walking towards us. She wants answers.
It’s time to move on. It’s time for the dog’s business.
