Train tracks delineated between the river and the estate
in icy January with my parents. Tarrytown, Sleepy Hollow
from Irving's pages just off Route 9 and the Saw Mill.
Only returning from Louisiana did I ever have an interest,
despite growing up less than 30 miles away.
The domestics seemed miniature, reminding
of Poe's place in Baltimore. Not of large stature,
even my parents were oversized. We bowed below
the entranceway arches, imagined Brom Bones and
the Van Tassels being crafted in the wake of the
storied Hudson River and shadows of New York City.
Knickerbockers Rockefeller and Carnegie stay just
up the road, “an ideal resting place.” Rip Van Winkle
resides four miles south. Magic and legend hang over
these parts, figures both fictional and factual, all
larger than the diminutive fixtures and forms from history.
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