I think the magic started on the first morning I was there. It was a bitterly cold, eye-stinging, gloriously sunny Thanksgiving morning. I took the subway to Brooklyn in order to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.
All the times you've seen this bridge, or heard about it in movies or TV, it's just a bridge with a name. Then you step onto it, make your way under the looming, industrial beams and wires, and it takes on a life of its own.
It may sound strange, but I was overwhelmed walking over this bridge. It is such a classic icon of New York, and to be part of the life that surrounds it was a great moment. The glorious view of Manhattan changes ever so slightly with each step you take. The skyline that is so ingrained in our pop-culture looked absolutely beautiful that morning against the perfect rich, blue of the sky. The weather-beaten, rusted pillars provide a heavy duty frame for the changing pictures.
There are no bad photos to be taken from The Brooklyn Bridge.
I think I enjoyed being part of the community taking in the wonder of the surroundings that day. Yes, there were swarms of us tourists gaping at this new sight, but we weren't alone. There were families, older couples, young kids, cyclists out training, daily joggers... Each person had their own story to be on the bridge that day. Being Thanksgiving I could spot the extended families spending a few hours together in the fresh air before the turkey would be done.
I don't think the smile left my face the whole time I was on the bridge. Or maybe that was just because it had been frozen into place by the bone-chilling wind.
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