July 13, 2011
Wednesday

. . .  noone among us has seen God
(… We have thought often
the flaws of sun in the late and driving weather
pointed to one tree but it was not so.)
As for the nights I warn you the nights are dangerous
The wind changes at night and the dreams come.
       — Archibald MacLeish, 1892-1982
            American poet
            from “Epistle to Be Left in the Earth”

According to Wikipedia (and who wouldn’t trust Wikipedia?), Manhattanhenge “is a semiannual occurrence in which the setting sun aligns with the east–west streets of the main street grid in the borough of Manhattan in New York City. The term is derived from Stonehenge, at which the sun aligns with the stones on the solstices. It was popularized in 2002 by Neil deGrasse Tyson, an astrophysicist at the American Museum of Natural History. It applies to those streets that follow the Commissioners’ Plan of 1811, which are laid out in a grid offset 29.0 degrees from true east–west. (The 29.0 degrees should be added to true east and west, making the western bearing approximately 299.0 degrees.) During Manhattanhenge, an observer on one of the gridded east-west streets will see the sun setting over New Jersey directly opposite from the street, along its centerline.”

I’ve known about Manhattanhenge probably since Dr. Tyson was on television talking about it. It’s certainly something that would capture my imagination. There is something of the Celtic Druid embedded in my bones, of that I am sure. I once did a spiritual growth exercise in which I had to imagine my maternal line back through the generations. My maternal grandmother was born in Pennsylvania’s coal country in 1878, so I assume it was her mother who was the immigrant from Ireland, (Picture Nicole Kidman in Far and Away — yeah, that would be me!) During the exercise, which was a guided meditation, I did imagine myself back and back and back until I arrived on what I would envision a windswept Celtic beach would be. It was not unlike the beach I walked in 1990 on my trip to the sacred Island of Iona, which is technically in the political area known as Scotland, but is actually somewhere between this world and the next. As they say, Iona is a thin place. 

A native New Yorker friend alerted me to the impending occurrence of Manhattanhenge, and I was overjoyed. I thought it had passed already, closer to the solstice. And so this evening, after a day spent in my air-conditioned apartment, I went down to 42nd Street and 6th Avenue to see what all the buzz was about.

I came up out of the subway beside Bryant Park and the New York Public Library. Some street theater was happening on the 5th Avenue side of the library — break dancers, surrounded by an appreciative crowd and lots of people snapping cell phone pictures. I walked across the street to take a look at a store with a big sign announcing “SAMPLE SALE — 60-80% OFF — Dolce & Gabbana, Armani, Prada, Canali.” On the subway, I’d seen a young woman in full Muslim hijab — scarf, tunic, long sleeves — but with Dolce & Gabbana eyeglasses that had a rhinestone DG at each temple. They looked a bit incongruous, out of character with clothing that is intended to keep one from calling attention to oneself. I hadn’t been able (hadn’t been so bold as to) take a picture, but I texted my observation to a friend whose initials are DG and who once found a pair of slightly damaged Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses on the beach, which he quickly appropriated, since that was about as close as he would ever get to owning anything by this expensive fashion house. “Maybe she got them here,” I added. The Dolce & Gabbana shirts on display in the store, in beautiful colors and of fabric that made me swoon to touch it, were regularly $400, available tonight for $150. I sent pictures of those. “Hope you still have the sunglasses,” was my final message.

Around the corner from the SAMPLE SALE store was a Subway, $5 Foot-Longs just like at home. It was across the street from a swanky restaurant. Lots of black livery cars parked over there, the drivers standing outside and smoking. As I ate my 6-inch veggie sub I watched the part of the street I could see getting darker and darker. When I came out, I saw that it had become very cloudy, and as I walked toward 5th Avenue, it began to rain.

That sent a lot of people up the steps of the library to huddle in the doorways. It was 7:30. The library was closing at 8:00, and sunset would not happen until nearly 8:30. I walked into the building despite the nearness of closing time, felt overwhelmed by all the marble. I did step into one reading room — long tables with candlestick lamps set at intervals, a scene I know from movies.

By 8:00 it had stopped raining. I walked along 42nd Street and looked west down the canyon made by the tall buildings. The clouds had cleared, and I could see the glow of the sun as it moved toward the gap. I figured out — as did everyone else — that if you crossed 42nd Street when the eastbound traffic was stopped, you could get a good picture of the sunset. In the twenty minutes or so before the big moment, I practiced, and so did everyone else, including people with elaborate cameras, long lenses, tripods. There was an energy there, a sense of excitement. For me, it was the equivalent of what I’d always imagined New Year’s Eve on Times Square would be. I will almost certainly never do that. I don’t even want to anymore.

But I did do this. And got my shot. And don’t be surprised if I make an effort to see the Manhattanhenge sunrise some winter solstice not too far in the future.