We ate at the counter of Boston's O Ya. Plates of food that astonish and please all the senses.
The rain has stopped. We walk to the South Station T stop, pausing just for a split second to contemplate the perfectness of the moment.
I wake up to a bright and beautiful day.
...and I spend the hours reading all the Polish press online about the tragedy in Smoleńsk. Eighty-eight precious lives. A president, senators, military leaders, the grandchildren of those who died nearby, in another tragedy not too many years before I was born.
Today, it's hard to be a Pole.