Which way is Home?

Timetables, suitcases, folded over old maps.
The old golden clock from the turn of the century in the great hall of Grand Central Station. The meeting place for so many over so many years. Suitcases and dreams.
Twice a day, my heels click down the marble staircase into the hall. People moving and dancing around each other like a ballroom below. Checking watches and schedule boards for their dates with the trains. The clicking of the track. The taking away.
Everyday I am arriving. In this very hall, it is one of the few places that the romance of New York City wraps around me. Injecting me with the very same feeling that I had years ago when I arrived. And it does it to me everyday, without fail. Sometimes I catch myself holding my breath. Overwhelmed, enraptured with it all.
Perhaps it’s because I’ve seen the image so many times in old movies, in old postcards. So many times when I dreamed of coming to New York, and looked at those images and imagined myself there. It’s one of the few images that hasn’t changed in the city. The old movie I can step into. Old super 8 camera…clicking of the film, grainy…capturing the romance of the coming and going, the history of trains.
My favorite part of the station, is that there is the night sky with the constellations outlined on the ceiling. The architect mistakenly inverted everything, so that when you look up, to see the only night sky you can see in the city…you see a mirror image of the sky…not the true placement.
So I have made a fun little task for myself this Summer. For the Summers in New York City for me have always been twinged in magic.
One Summer evening, I am going to lay in the middle of the floor of the great hall of Grand Central. My back against the cool marble…and I shall take a picture of the stars for you.
Dreaming…stargazing at the painted ceiling
..wishing on the backwards sky.