Went walking out under the blooming trees to the Farmer’s Market . I noted the smell of flowers and diesel fuel which when mixed with passing tobacco is the smell of travel. I was muttering to myself about an old project that has a narrative climax in Switzerland…
I heard an Alp horn ringing through the din at Grand Army Plaza. A trio of Swiss musicians was out busking by the market, playing jazz with alp horn, clarinet and accordian. It was one of those moments where the shape of your thoughts seems to spill out into the real world and the shape of the horn seemed to echo all these sprout drawings of the last couple of days. Strange… atleast inside my egg shell head.
