A visual, written, and recorded story.
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The clouds roll in as mist fills the spaces between the distant city walls.
I search for Liberty but she is lost to the night's rain. So, I smile at the wet wind, wondering again how I got here and why. Immediately I want to give up, I should just go home.
I am not a city girl. I don't belong here. But I love this place. There is something about it. The rush of New York never ceases to amaze. I'm in awe of its interconnectedness. It's strength and structure. Everytime I arrive, I have no idea how. There's no reason or rhyme.
There's just this rhythm.
Once again, it is unplanned plans that have me wandering around these city streets. At the base of the Brooklyn Bridge, walking with an old friend, I feel like we're on a journey with no destination, just an idea. He laughs at the rain, unaware of my frustration, as I wonder if we'll ever find our way to the top.
Bicycles begin to whiz by, unaltered by the weather. A brief glance lets me know he's thinking the same thing. We follow them, letting curiosity lead the way. Into the darkness, we begin the climb. The higher we walk, the harder it rains, the more the fears set in. My mind races through all the things that could go wrong. My fear of heights, wetness, and wind settle onto my body as we keep walking into the unknown.
The rain fills my shoes, but all I care about is keeping my camera dry. As the towering formation gets bigger, my neck strains to bring it all into view. All I can feel is my wet feet trembling at the traffic below. I have no idea how close we already are.
Out of breath, I pause to wipe my glasses and squint to take it all in. All of a sudden, I see the lights just below us. His laughter fades as my feet take off running for the edge of the steel structure. I breathe in the rain, surrender to the new sounds, and reach for my tripod.
At the height of this moment, I can feel that rush again. That rush that only a place like New York can give me. My imagination runs wild as fear takes a backseat. But I know, I have to slow down if I want to let creativity in.
There it is again. That dreadful feeling of a fleeting moment gone before I can catch it. I tell myself to breathe. Don't react. Just be. Trust and feel. The story will create itself. You already set the foundation.
So, just enjoy the ride.
A visual, written, and recorded story by Danielle Werner. The fire crackles right behind me and I can still hear them sharing their childhood stories. My eyes wander towards the black sky, as the stars begin to blink into sight.
A visual, written, and recorded story by Danielle Werner. As I descend under the pier, I'm distracted by a blue heron fishing for his breakfast. He sees me but doesn't care. Again, my mind struggles with what to do next.