The writer's bicycle locked outside the Brooklyn Public Library at Grand Army Plaza; in a smattering of thin but attentive winter sunlight between three and four o'clock.The kind that makes brilliant the white bicycles painted in the Prospect Park road.
When she rides, she knows who she is.
"The widening light caught the plumage of quails and partridges... and quickly I dropped this wonderful moment to the bottom of my memory, like a sheet anchor that one day I could draw up again."
--The Way of the World by Nicolas Bouvier
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