elephants, lions, pizza pie

September light on Central Park West, the rosy hulk of the Natural History Museum: Anna and I went to see the elephants. I haven't much studied the taxidermy at the museum since I was a kid myself,visiting beloved Auntie Julie from my home on the plains. I remember being awed by the vastness of the indoor space at the museum. In MN, our sky is endless, but I don't think I'd ever seen buildings that held so much air. I remember looking through the apatasaurus to the arc of the great hall above.

Anna wanted to see elephants. And elephants we saw. A troop of them have been standing stock still there since the 1930's, trunks frozen mid-swing, calf sidled up to its mama. As much as I'd rather they'd been left to live out their lives on the Serengeti, both Anna and I were awestruck by the sheer bulk of them, and close enough to touch the palm-size toenails, too. The grace of them stood me still. It sent Anna dancing and galloping in circles. "Elephants, elephants, elephants!"

After gaping at skulls the size of Anna's stroller and a blue whale big enough to live in, a horde of butterflies and a film about waves, we walked out umbrella-less into the sudden downpour and took refuge in Nick's Pizza where the fella gave Anna her first balloon. Yellow. She hugged it all the way home.