Walking in the dark of the unlit Brooklyn Pier Park, downtown NY stood emblazed in artificial lights fire; a lighthouse on the end of a jetty visible for countless miles out at sea. This modern Anthemoessa, her Sirens beckoning light calling all into her clutches, had me mesmerized in the poetry of her old and new charm. To see NY from this vantage was to see history unfolding before me. The Freedom Tower, closer to the furthest shore, loomed large over the scene, casting a light of remembrance on the entire revelation. A modern classic, anchored in the cities oldest soil, representing a future of prosperity and hope. Directly across the river, on the nearest shore, rested the tall ships, delegates of a bygone era, entrenched in an icy moor. For those in the know, they marked the spot of the South Street Seaport and one of the cities great historical districts. Now a modern tourist destination, the Seaport was until recently home to the Fulton Fish Market, it's catches feeding a hungry city with the Atlantics briny fare. As I stood in the frozen nighttime cold, I was shaken from my thoughts by a cacophony In front of me. Gazing at the remnant pilings of the old Brooklyn docks, solitary shaded and shrouded in night's pitch, there pulsed life. Unmistakeably, Gulls filled the air with the music of their constant caws, the incessant Mine, Mine, Mine obliterating the silence. Unable to penetrate the darkness to determine where they were, as I took this shot, I imagined a dozen or so in the darkness. I was astounded at seeing the exposure. There, on every piling, was a resting gulls. There must have been a hundred passing the night in lower Manhattan's shadow. Lucky birds.