I've started reading a speech given by Lorca when he was in New York. Too early to have a reaction? No, not at all. There are sentences in there I envy; there are more, however, that I challenge. "The two elements the traveler first captures in the big city are extra human architecture and furious rhythm...the sharp edged buildings rise to the sky with no desire for either clouds or glory...(they) climb coldly skyward with a beauty that has no roots. There is nothing more poetic or terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them. Snow, rain, and mist highlight, drench or conceal those vast towers, but those towers (are) hostile to mystery..." 

Skyscrapers are not hostile to mystery, nor are they cold, or rootless. They are the very opposite. How can you not be mesmerised by the hive like life that flutters in, around and across skyscrapers? Those people? Where do they all come from, how do they get there, what are they thinking, doing, hoping, fearing? Surely nothing less than the ingredients for mystery and conjecture.

Cold? Not these furnaces of human life. Rootless? Again, no. Their literal roots go down fathoms. They are anchored like teeth. And anchored as deep into the NYC skyline as the Himalayas - and as sacred, as spiritual, and as elemental to that fine city too.