The commute

Walking to the T. Early afternoon sun shines obliquely through the trees lining College Ave. Warm breeze -- feels like spring. On the platform at Davis, an old man picks bluegrass banjo next to his lazy-looking black dog. Two quarters from my disorganized backpack plunk into the banjo case as the train glides into the station. Porter. Harvard. Central. Kendall. We glide smoothly up and over the Charles, Boston bound. Twin obelisks of the Bunker Hill Monument and the graceful Zakim bridge crest the distant horizon to the sound of Glenn Miller's Tuxedo Junction. Off the train at Park Street -- bustle of feet rushing up the stairs to the green line platform. The D-line train comes before my usual E. I hop on -- the longer walk on the other end means more time to enjoy the weather. Off at Fenway, rushing toward work. Sidewalk Sam is chalking a Matisse on the pavement while the geese graze on the Fenway. Almost there. I arrive at my desk 10 minutes late, but it's worth it.

(actually written a week or two ago, but I forgot to post it!)