They pack, and after breakfast, the Flatlanders go to draw.
We live in a place where in October and even into November, green leaves can still be found. Our “southerly” location, and our proximity to the ocean, have this year, as happens almost every year, fenced us off from the onset of fall.
But now we travel north.
We are going north to visit a new grandson, a little baby who has just come into the light.
As you approach the City of Boston from the South, you pass a distinctive yellow-brick tower and accompanying buildings. The ornate structure is the tower of the Pine Street Inn. Here, and in their other locations throughout the area, people in distress, people struggling in seas of difficulty, can find a place where there is a roof over their head, where there are clean clothes, where there is food to eat, and a place to sleep.
It’s a place where life and hope can begin again.
We zip under Boston, courtesy of a “Big Dig” tunnel.
In reflected hubcap light, you see the travelers.
To our east, things are happening in and to the sky.
We pass a sign to be wondered at.
What kind of deer are these?
A few more miles down the road, a similar sign is far less mysterious.
The hills are semi-bare now.
But there is still color in the remnant leaves.
After a while, we see a mountain in the distance.
Clouds come and go.
The light is strong.
Is that snow????
Then at last we leave the highway and go down into a valley where there’s a little city with a golden dome in its heart.
Stopping and going in the little city streets, we notice serendipitous welcome music.
Bumper sticker Beethoven.