Coney Island on My Mind

Howdy friends,

I’m in Colorado now, on a little R & R with my fam. Big skies, thin air, the slow pace—it all makes you feel like time has stretched out just for you. The rivers, the granite, the stubborn moose standing in the road like it owns the deed to it.

And yet, when I close my eyes, I’m back at the shore of Coney Island—sand sticking to my shoes, waves chewing at the edge of the city, the sky burning down to embers. So now feels like the right time to share some photos I took there before heading west. And when I’m back in Brooklyn, missing the serenity and wide-open quiet of the Rockies, I’ll post some photos—and maybe a video—from this trip.

On the shore, women in hijab shepherd their children toward the water. The kids dart ahead, squealing when the tide rushes up, chasing it as the Atlantic tugs at their ankles.

For a moment, the city disappeared—no history, no politics, no burden of being a grown-up. Just laughter rolling louder than the waves.

Somehow, I needed to see some of the images in b&w, stripping the beach of its carnival reds and boardwalk yellows. In monochrome, the shore feels older, timeless. 1925 or 2025. In color, though, Coney is undeniably now.

The sunset that night wasn’t gentle. Fire and bruise, a sky collapsing in on itself. Deadly. Though children still shrieked in the surf and lovers hid behind the wind.

Out here in the Rockies the air smells like pine, not salt. But when the sun goes down, I still picture the Atlantic lit up in the last light. Coney Island sticks with you, like sand in your mind, until even the mountains feel a little like the beach.

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’Til next time.
ak