Deep within a crystal conservatory in the bountiful borough of the Bronx, lies a tiny Elvish urbanscape, a veritable land of Fay, built of tawny twigs and limber leaves, delicate petals, and sturdy vines. The elves beckoned as I entered, to walk among its warm and woodsy city, to admire the majestic buildings, historical brownstones and mansions, museums and bridges created with loving detail and, to visually ride the many rails that whooshed! round and round this miniature city of delight.
I wandered through, like in a dream, the different boroughs naming the bridges as I passed. “Oh, there’s the 59th Street, and the Hellgate too! Oh, is that the Manhattan or the Verrazano, which are usually blue? And look! The good ole Brooklyn Bridge!”
Finding myself in a minuscule Midtown Manhattan I stood like Gulliver, surrounded by the iconic architecture that has made Manhattan famous: the Chrysler, Flatiron, Empire and Woolworth buildings, just to name a few. In the short distance I spied the revered St. Patrick’s Cathedral and Radio City Music Hall, too!
A Pixie took me back in time to the late 19th century to view the old mansions owned by this city’s early millionaires. There was a crooked brownstone that reminded me of an English nursery rhyme: There was an old man who lived in a crooked house, and had a crooked cat that chased a crooked mouse!
I peeked into windows and doors, up at roof tops and down a chimney’s gloom as my fingers tripped up tiny porch steps. I visited old city hall, a Swedish cottage, the Merchants House sitting next door to Samuel Trowbridge, and even Grant’s Tomb!
I ended my visit and, bid adieu to my magical hosts, in the bonny borough of Brooklyn’s fun-filled Coney Island; a summertime magical land all of its own.