After a relaxing Friday evening entry into Boston, Saturday dawned with sunshine – a deceptive peek at the beauty to be had when weather and atmosphere agreed. We knew that wouldn’t last, and with storms forecast for the afternoon, we hurriedly grabbed an Uber to the seaport, where our seaside Spring Stroll was scheduled to begin.
The sea had been calling to us for years, yet for some reason we largely, and unintentionally, steered clear of its magic. It was there on nights when the fog streamed in from the water, and all of Boston had the smell of ocean and seaweed carried on wet winds, and I always longed for it then, but we never really did anything about it. Until this weekend.
We planned the bulk of our day around the seaport – walking and strolling along the harbor amid the seagulls and the lapping water. Spring was definitely in the air, and we absorbed the moment as best we could, knowing that storms were brewing, feeling the subtle shift in the air as the hours ticked by.
Here, in this city, where old and new combined and collided on cobblestone streets and brand new construction, we wound our way along the water, greeting the spring season in this virgin stroll.
The sun was strong, and the air warm enough to remove a jacket for a picture or two. It felt like such a simple joy, yet when I think back on the last two years, how grandly epic such simplicity really is. There can be grace and grandiosity in every moment, no matter how seemingly simple.
We enjoyed an early lunch at a Mexican restaurant, then made our way back downtown for some shopping. By that time the rain had arrived, and we headed back home as the first drops began to fall. Such was our first Spring Stroll.
I’m being bold enough to hope for another.
