Ahhh, Governor's Island......it's as if we were in Smalltown, U.S. of A. on a sultry Sunday aft, relaxing on a blanket on the green. The bandstand sits in it's grove, and when the band is down, there's a victrola spinning records, still 1920's mind, to amuse the townsfolk. Scattered groups of picnickers (?) do their picknicking thing; bicycles provide the only transportation, once the vintage cars are parked. Cloches rather than large brims, better to dance in when you're cheek-to-cheek,are the hat of the day. Imagine an afternoon of flirtation, relaxation, and time travel. A bit of that, since not all the strollers were dressed to dance perfection, so the old world met the new world every three people or so. For me, having lived immersed in vintage, and antique, for decades, it's more normal than an afternoon in Central Park with the spandex crowd.
History has a way of asserting itself, be it political repercussions, or a flippy little skirt dancing by.
Thank you, Michael. I'm already dreaming of September.