It’s always pretty, that lift up that takes you over the eastern edge of Madison’s isthmus.
By the time I touch down in Boston, it’s dark. And late. Delays. Hardly surprising considering the weather patterns from the last few days. I’m hungry. I head straight for the restaurant where I am meeting my little one. I’ve had images of sea food platters all day long. They all contain bits of lobster – a crustacean that I rarely (never, these days) see on my plate back home. But here, I am almost in lobster country. Isn’t Boston home to the lobster roll? With fries and slaw on the side?
Okay, but first comes the soup. Yes, I am in New England.
It’s brisk here now. In the morning, I go to the Law School and listen to a lecture. In the time I am doing this, a band of snowshowers has passed through. I look at the courtyard in front of the law buildings. I seem to bring the stuff with me. Here you go, a gift, from Wisconsin. Still, this is a feeble cover compared to back home! The paths remain stubbornly black. Dark vectors and a tangle of branches, refusing the sweeping cover of whiteness.
I’m used to this stuff. If I ignore it, maybe it’ll disappear.
I walk to the river and look around me. Not much activity here. Cambridge folk aren’t as hardy us we are. One runner. A few cyclists. Empty benches. Silence.
I look into courtyards, admire the spires, the statues, all of it. And now I appreciate the delicate layer of snow. You can’t deny it. Snow beautifies most anything it touches. At least in this month.
Still, it’s cold. I walk into a flower store to see if I can brighten a table with something not entirely seasonal. We must be close to Valentine’s Day. Buckets and buckets of roses.
I pick something with greater staying power and walk across the campus, back to the apartment, thinking ahead to dinner.