Miniature meditations on the imagery I notice as my life moves me around my country and the world.
Monday, April 18, 2016
The little town of Winthrop wraps around Logan Airport, occupying most of a peninsula sticking out deep into Boston Harbor. It's small tight-packed houses occupy nearly every bit of land that is not beach or marsh, crowding along the water as the planes roar directly across it on one of their most common landing paths. When my daughter was a toddler and very into airplanes, we took picnic dinners out to sit by the water and watch the big jets pound down above us, bringing on a near-overwhelming delight.