“Which view do you like better?” my husband asks.

I can’t answer. They are too different, these two separate scenes, from two separate runs, along two separate rivers. But both views loom tall. Both feel majestic in their own ways. Both are as distant as they are within reach.

I ran the Brooklyn waterfront for seven years and I’ve only run the lower Hudson Valley for seven days. There’s something to be said for the ‘knowing’ I feel at every turn along Brooklyn Bridge Park. I’ve biked or run its paths hundreds of times. I’ve slung my camera around my neck and taken photos from every angle. I know where Governor’s island peeks out, where the bridge leads, where the promenade hovers along the other side. I know the underground veins of the city, its subways and tunnels. I know the city’s sky in every kind of weather.

Here, I don’t know the names of those three hunchbacked mountains. I don’t know where the running paths start or end. I don’t know where to turn into the shopping center. I’ve criss-crossed open fields in my running sneakers because I didn’t know that the path ended and began again somewhere else. I’ve circled and backtracked the car up and around Rt. 6 because I didn’t know the entrance or exit, where one store was in relation to another. I don’t know the sky through these trees, what shape or color it will take.

It’s impossible to say which view I like better. One view I’ll come to know. The other I’ll only have known.

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