I like to say that my oldest daughter lives down south. I have a mother in California and family scattered between Poland and Sweden and of course, my littlest girl in Boston, but no one who lives in a climate that I would call warm (by my standards). So when I say to myself – I’m heading south – I get a small thrill at the thought that I may have a few days of less brutal weather.
Of course, it’s iffy here in March. There was a lion quality to the air as we landed.
(No, I do not fly American, but don’t you think it’s fitting to post a photo of the Capitol and an airline that exudes the spirit of the place? Northwest, my airline of choice, would do better in a post on Seattle.)
Still, walking from the metro to my daughter's apartment, I felt vindicated. The cool weather is a mere accident. I’m south.