Every morning I go to work traveling across the Williamsburg Bridge either by train or by bicycle.
Either way, I look out at the East River and see what the water is doing.
Each time some character of the water reminds me of a place I've lived.
Sometimes its the green underbelly of a dock on Lake Washington or the smooth early morning surface of Hood Canal.
Other times it is a cold Pacific swell down by the fairgrounds near Ventura or the gentle hue of the waves breaking at Hammond's.
It can remind me of the mushy whiteness of a wake behind a Puget Sound ferry or the windy calm by the Marina in San Francisco.
At some point, when I no longer live in New York, I will look at the water and it may remind me of the East River settling in for its daily routine under the Williamsburg Bridge.
Hopefully I'll be back at Hammond's.
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