I didn’t realize it, but I visited Alexander Hamilton on his birthday.
I snapped this picture while standing on a spot I love.
Facing south from here (on the corner of Wall Street and Broadway), I looked across land that belonged to my ancestors when they first came to New York. I sometimes wonder if this is why I feel so at home here.
Last night I heard the lyrics, “When you’re gone, who remembers your name? Who keeps your flame? Who tells your story?”.
I’m so glad someone did.
Now I’m going to go write like I’m running out of time.