Fort Tryon park in Washington Heights was named after the last British governor of New York. This fact alone draws me to it. Centuries before, the Wiechquaesgeck Indians dwelled in nearby caves, feasting on oysters in the summertime.

The surrounding area bears the footprints of successive waves of immigration. The Indian Road, (Indigenous tribes) Bogardus Place, (Colonial Dutch) Fort George Avenue & Hill, (Colonial British) Colonel Robert Magaw Place, (American Revolutionary) Haven Avenue, (Early American) Piotr Pinkhasov Plaza, (Soviet Jewish) and Juan Pablo Duarte Boulevard ( Dominican Spanish). Yet, Fort Tryon Park remains primordial.

On a quiet evening ‘something’ ancient radiates from the rocks. It traverses underground springs and hums along the roots of great trees. Eventually, it finds release in the tinkling leaves. Maybe ‘it’ is the song of Madame Mannahatta herself?

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