how?

From my office I see down onto the curving ramps of the Manhattan end of the Queensboro Bridge, put in motion by the vehicles that continually trace these curves, woven past the thick grid of avenues and streets, and before and behind the vertical grid of tall towers.  Moving curves of shining painted vehicles, amongst the stout, still, straight lines of streets and towers.  Seeing it every morning feels part gift, part sermon: deserve ye this?