I’ve never really been sure why things are extra beautiful from train or bus windows. But they are.
I rode a bus home to Boston from Philly last night, after a nice Thanksgiving in Lancaster and visit with Kyle and Trillian. Kyle gave me a fountain pen; I am excited but still not proficient with it. I finally was able to introduce Bill, which gave me great joy.
I even like things through dirty windows, and especially when I am alone.
The first step onto the ground is intense for me, even if I have been there before; once I was moving, now I am afoot on Terra.
I talk too much, and I feel too many unauthorized feelings, and when I am moving along in a train, and cities and bridges and buildings are glittering backdrops reeling along beside me, I feel that I am nowhere, everywhere, untraceable, and it brings me peace.
My favorite place to be is uncatchable, anywhere, my favorite feeling is to be understood. Each is fleeting, rare, almost never forgotten.
It was lovely to come home to Boston.
The leather shop in Harvard Square seems as if it has been there forever. Note the vault lighting in the sidewalk out front. (Doriot!)
Before I went to Pennsylvania (and what a trip to drive through five states in six hours) for Thanksgiving, and after I came back from Tucson, I went out to PTown for the first time, with my friend Gail.
In fact, it was my first time on Cape Cod.
I loved it.