Alexandra Raskin

On a drive back to New York City from the Berkshires, my sister took me to a barn sale near Tivoli, NY. The inside of the store was a marvelous brick-a-brack of antique lamps, used china, and worn furnishings. Just outside was a radiator graveyard, softened by the afternoon sun and autumn leaves. It was a surreal bridging of the drive from the country, where I had enjoyed the sun and changing leaves, to my apartment, where any of these radiators would have felt at home.