Embankment Embarkment

I wander as I wonder. Walking up 6th from the Mall, saw that the embankment levy had a break in it, a semi-path up the hill. An opportunity to see the famed embankment, our city’s very own plateau and future home of the Hudson County High-Line.

Rugged Terrain did not deter my escalation, nor did obstructions of litter, trash and garbage. The air got thinner and as the wind picked up. Had to keep moving. A storm was moving in. You do not want to get caught in something up here, they won't find your body until after the thaw.

Pipe, wood, what civilization used to be here; what are these protrusions remnants of? Back then, in the before-time, goods were carried by what poets called the “iron horse.” Was this part of the drainage infrastructure? Amazing, the city had a working sewer system at one time.

Small plastic bags, the kind that jewelers use for small watch pieces or stones. These sized zip-lock baggies are also popular with drug dealers. There seemed to be no evidence of drug use on the embankment actually. These bags were empty but they also seemed to be unused and in fact, seemed like somehow a box of them had been opened and the bags accidentally scattered about.

Railroad Ties. Lonely for tracks, and only memories of ballast. Piled here for decades. Happy trains no more. I yearn for railroad days of yore.

Couldn’t quite make out what was tagged on this concrete memorial stone.

Up here, the echo is never ending!

Oh glorious vista. Oh blessed and holy Jersey City. Good people down below, heed my words! I come from on high to declare the glory of the world and the embankment above. I’ll never be the same again after seeing such views, such wide horizons. The infinity of possibilities spreading out far and wide, the fear of insignificance that must be overcome in order to behold such grandeur. Oh Heavens! Oh Earth. Oh Peaks and Valleys! Humble in my Humanity I beseech thee, hear my cry!

The sherpas from the Heights that accompanied me on my journey had fled. The mule dropped dead after we reached the plateau. Just me and my pick-axe, only a half bottle of Poland Spring Water, but I made it back alive, with pictures for those who doubt my tale.