Inspiration struck again on Friday. Initial jump of leaf metamorphosis and polar breezes perfect mixture for Central Park communion. Like stepping into an oil canvas that hasn't completely dried yet.

Twisted a fat lantern of tripmaster skunky potency. Carted the sacred object over to my homie's crib. Rousted Luke out of his slumber. I had a plan, and needed a friendly witness. Also, it's quite metro beneficial to share the neglected savories of Gotham. I pity tourists. They can't see what we see. Which helps my own self worth.

Normalising in the L.E.S. first. Barely killed half the lantern, we were both giddy spinning. Better to let the initial freak unfurl down in the downtown freak nest. Initial plans of planting asses in a restaurant scrapped. Far too buzzed to make a dining decision. Visions of spacing out on a menu for a half an hour while a waitstaff wonders when the men in lab coats will be coming to collect their two research escapees. Didn't seem complimentary to peaceful stoner amusement.

Grabbed beverages and simmered in Thompson's Square. Giggled at an energetic beagle chasing a golden retriever around the dog run. Wood chips flying. Walked in squiggly lines up and down Alphabet City. Chillin under the weeping willows on Avenue C.

Hopped in a cab and commanded a northern route. Reminiscing all the way back to three weeks ago, I choose the same destination as when I visited the Cooper Hewitt Museum. Perfect launching pad I thought.

As I predicted the park was virtually forgotten. We am made of sturdy stuff. Abnormal low temperatures will not fend off me and mine. Smattering of other visitors made for a completely uncluttered hike. Luke brought his digital camera and was able to snatch numerous panoramic pastoral shots bereft of any people. Dope.

Course, we also were digging on frames of twisted tree knots, back illuminated mosaic colored foilage and righteous dada angles of granite and park benches. No clicks of Alice on the toadstool or otherwise typical newcommer grabs to prove they were there. We were interested in the minutia, the things that hide above your head.

Christ was that place gorgeous that day. The Autumn has just started creeping in. Plenty of moist green accented by shocks of warm hues. One pic we took of the canopy was mostly verdant leaves except for a proud gathering of blood red that bravely rustled in between their green friends. The sun was completely cooperating with us. Amazing spectres of shadow branches and trunks veined their way through glowing stained glass nature. My chest felt wrapped in pillows.

We traversed in a curvy paper clip track. Started on Ninety First Street headed south until we reached the southern end and crossed over to the west side. Walked up the west side of the park back into the Nineties again. Stretched over to the east side and found a new path down to the end of the park again. Flexed those leg muscles.

Was involved in a black bird insect feeding frenzy under sparsely fallen leaf covered ivy. Lushed in front of a living Monet painting of the cool toned city shimmering in the great reflecting pool. Ran my fingers through fresh pine needles releasing their potent scent. Delighted in a debutante bouncing with glee on her saddle as her Arabian thundered passed us twice. Marvelled under the archway of every bridge. Climbed rocks. Jumped off the beaten path. Took in so much eye joy it was almost unbearable.

Holy shit was that a great day.