Hudson River and Memories

John and I spent our Thursday evening by Hudson River. There was a twisting trail, trodden by many, from where we parked our car up to the rocks facing the river. The trail itself seemed to be impenetrable at first, but it was not. John helped me walking it up to this semi-flat area, where we finally sat and enjoyed the autumn-scenting breeze and the serene scenery agitated every now and then by the Metro-North train's howling under the rocks, carrying the exhausted people back and forth.

I took this picture when it was roughly 6 pm, the sun was about to melt away behind the clouds, but still a couple of rays were piercing through the thin fluffy layer of moist, showing off their unparagoned beauty spreading all over.

It took one hour for us to shake our minds off the grandeur surrounding us, I curled up by the warmth of John's body, he put his arm around my shoulder and held me close to his chest. He showed me a dusty guitar's pick on the ground beneath our feet. I thought of all the people who had been sitting exactly on the same spot as us, feeling peaceful, thinking, dreaming, and some of them playing the guitar to the wind.

This short visit rekindled a desire for poetry in me. It was a long time I had abandoned either reading or writing poems. Right after we got back home, I went to the "middle-room" (the small room betweem the bedroom and John's violin-making workshop), where we keep our books on tiny wooden book shelves, and picked up The Complete Poems of John Keats. This book brought a flow of memories with it: On the first page, I had written in black ink:

Istanbul, Feb. 2006/ Marmara Hotel

I remembered the very first time John and I had met eachother in person: It was on Friday, Feb 10th, 2006, 10: 40 am where I met John in Ataturk Airport, Istanbul, by the conveyor belt of Iran Air passengers' baggage.

I remember the first moment we met was truly magical, as it happens in Hollywood's movies. He seemed to be a lot more enchanting than I had always imagined, he had more stars in his eyes, his skin was more fair, and his smell was more familiar than what I had imagined. When he saw me, he said, "Tina," and then gently embraced me -- affectionately, as if sending a message: "feel safe, I am here." He said I was more beautiful and taller than what he had imagined. We had seen eachother's pictures and had been chatting on webcam for long hours, but nothing could compare with that moment we held eachother "for real". We took a taxi to "Marmara" hotel, and finally when we arrived there, the first thing John wanted to do was giving me gifts, because my birthday was on Feb. 14th, the Valentine's Day, and he was all excited. He had birthday, Valentine's, and "firts-meeting" gifts for me. This book was one of the gifts I received that day.

I layed down on the single bed we have put in middle-room to provide for the time either of us wants to be alone. Sometimes I sit there and read books, sometimes John sits there and plays the guitar.

I opened the book where I had left a marker. This marker came with the book on the day I received it. It was John's ticket stub for a visit to "De La Alhambra" in Spain. The date on it was 23/10/2004. I thought to myself "the same month, three years ago". I wonder if John could guess, as he was walking through the Alhambra Palace' chambers, in three years he would be married to this girl from Iran. I guess not.

The poem I had marked was "The Endymion". I re-read the opening lines which I had recited in silence for hundreds of times:

A THING of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

I thought of the beauty of Hudson River which had triggered all these sweet memories -- all after a short visit on a Thursday evening.