My favorite part of Boston, by far, is the mix of old and new, that the tiny Old State House is nestled among law firms and investment banks and that Faneuil Hall has a lookalike in Graham Gund’s postmodern creation, One Faneuil Hall Square. The Old Corner Bookstore seems to have been forgotten and sits empty, while suited-up men turn up the collars of their trench coats against the chill.
I walk down Cambridge Street, turning once or twice to look at the six-story, curved Sears Crescent building against the backdrop of the Financial District’s shiny, glass skyscrapers. I randomly pick a side street and I swing left, up into Beacon Hill. I really don’t know my way, and I’m running late, but I have my camera out and I stop to photograph a budding flower. It’s not spring here – March is fickle – but, today, it’s easy to think that warmer weather might be on the way.
This afternoon is stunning – sunshine glints off the lampposts and lights up the brick facades. Boston at its best. As I come down one of those streets named after a tree – I forget which one – and I find Beacon Street, the afternoon is suddenly more beautiful than I can believe. But I really am running late and, as I shield my eyes from the sun, I walk faster towards Back Bay and leave the afternoon behind.