Pilgrimage II: Mysteries solved

Today's 12-mile walk from North Jersey to Manhattan's East Village and partway back was a journey through time, legend and the realm of ghosts.
I got a late start this morning because of the bitter cold. When I awoke at 9, it was 17 degrees. I drank pot after pot of tea waiting for the temperature to rise some, and by the time I left at about 2 p.m. it was in the mid-20s.
When the air is this cold, sounds carry forever. Small propeller planes and helicopters flying high overhead sounded so close I was sure I could reach up and touch them.
On the New York shore of the Hudson River, I saw something just past the George Washington Bridge that I had never seen before -- a peregrine falcon circling about 50 feet above the riverbank. The birds have made a comeback (along with hawks) in Manhattan, where they build their nests on ledges high atop skyscrapers. There may even be a nesting pair in one of the towers of the GWB, if I recall.
By the time I got out my camera and tried to fumble with the focus with gloves on, Brother Falcon was gone, his tight, clockwise circles carrying him over the treetops and out of sight.
All he left was this haiku:

Peregrine falcon
gliding over the Hudson
taut wings slice cold air

About three miles farther down the path is the place where angels gather to make music.
In all my countless walks on the Hudson River trail, I've passed within a stone's throw of the legendary Cotton Club at 125th Street and 12th Avenue, resolving time after time that the next time, I would snap a picture of this musical paradise for my blog. Then I would amble on, usually whistling Duke Ellington's "Take the 'A' Train."
After many miles over many months and many walks up and down the river, today was the day.

The place looked closed. From outside I heard nothing.
On a hunch I tried the door. As it gave way, a blast of sound nearly blew me off my feet. A kickin' jazz show was in full swing. I wanted to take some photos, but this was out of the question as it would've distracted the musicians.
But through providence, the beautiful Ms. Pamela McPherson-Cornelius, one of the vocalists at the club, stepped into the lobby and offered to pose for a snapshot. "You better make me look good," she said. "Otherwise, I'll come and haunt you."

Then I had a wonderful chat about the club with a classy gentleman named Curtis, who works the door and coatroom and keeps an eye on things.
I walked the couple of blocks west to get back on the trail and once again was by the riverside.
For a long time, I've noticed delicate driftwood sculptures set up at intervals along the river's rocky banks. I always wondered how they got there.
Today I found out.
A man was busily tying twine to join two branches together, so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice my approach. I introduced myself and asked him his name. "Call me Mr. Driftwood," he said, smiling.
I asked if I could take some pictures, and he told me to snap away -- even though he revealed that his artistic endeavors along the banks of the Hudson technically are illegal. "But go ahead, take some pictures, I suppose it's alright," he said. "They don't know who I am."

"All you need is twine and driftood," he explained. "The wood tells you what to do."
These sculptures don't last very long, he said. The elements and the park guards quickly reduce them to their components. I said that in this respect they remind me of mandalas.
"That's exactly what they are," Mr. Driftwood said. "I put them together, photograph them and say goodbye to them. Three weeks later the Parks Department comes and takes them down."

The middle part of my walk took me through Central Park, where I took advantage of the thin crowds to visit the mosaic dedicated to John Lennon that's inset into the pavement. It's within view of the Dakota Hotel, where he was fatally shot in 1980.

I wound up my southward trip with a visit to the apartment building where my father was born Sept. 12, 1907. It's at 409 E. Sixth St., between First Avenue and Avenue A.

It was dark by the time I got there, so these photos didn't come out very well. But standing on the same spot where he had his photo taken as a young child sent shivers down my spine.
Today I discovered that I love New York City far more than I ever knew.