+42° 26' 8", -71° 27' 29"

If I told you that the oceans are the sweat of giants, would you believe me? If I claimed that we live on the slowly widening pupil of an infant god, would you dismiss it out of hand? A well-proportioned rug sees confidence, grace, and honesty in the awkward and exploratory. You are six. Share your cake and forget your wish. Time will still love you when you’re 39, if you are wondering.

+42° 34' 12", -71° 25' 26"

Hesitation is beautiful, or I have learned nothing. A late afternoon squall has fleeced the Interstate. The sky is both scrim and sun, and the pavement has vanished. In its place is steamy color, panoramic and serpentine. We are riding and rubbernecking. Is this common?

+43° 38' 52", -71° 54' 53"

These are skeptic’s peaks: sheepbacked, shorn, and accurate. Unassuming vernal pools speckle the lee slope while rusty evergreen and silvery birch seed the stoss. Only blue skies and chartreuse breezes recall the fire of 1855.

+42° 27' 55", -71° 6' 43"

It is a simple task to become disoriented on familiar ground: look and remember, but recant time. Advancement is reduced to a syrupy difference. Stasis and retreat request consideration. Materiality is seditious. 

Hold, breathe, and recognize. There are cars nearby. There is value in this, too.