URBAN NOTES: a series on Columbus Circle, NY

A DRINK.

She so gingerly bends to take a drink from the fountain the wind will blow and
break her in half and crumple her spine like a stack of sticks.
She's washed the dust accrued to her hands and arms and given her mouth a
swipe before sucking the water in at the apogee of its leap.

TRILOGY.

Open the heart.

Discover doing.

Believe in work.



MOVEMENT.

On the subway F to Manhattan and Queens the harmonica trembles the already
trembling air as the train approaches. I think opera.

CENTRAL PARK.

SW corner. A little chic coffee stand where I pass the time if the gods of trains
are kind. Skaters pull off their shoes and fly. Women and men read newspapers
, periodicals, sip middlin' strong coffee -- somewhere between diner-quality and
Starbucks. Today, the cafe is out of cheese danish and the pigeons are
disappointed though I never feed them.

Jan McLaughlin’s life has a life of its own. She enjoys anything having to do with sound: conversation, film, dance, theater, music, chaos, and silence. Despite her life-long romance with language, McLaughlin says, “Words mean nothing. Action is everything.”

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Princess-at-Large