When I arrived in Boston on a hazy and breezy Friday afternoon (following a hellacious drive where I witnessed an awful accident as it happened on the other side of the Mass Turnpike) there was the scent of sea on the air. Not everyone noticed it (Kira couldn’t find it when I asked her) but when you’ve been landlocked for weeks, you notice the shift. And you definitely notice the sea, which is something that I have always adored. When the breeze comes in from the water like that, it can make for interesting weather, not always nice, but in this case it was a recipe for the perfect stretch of days with some sun and light breezes, and the ocean buffer kept Boston in the low 80’s as opposed to the 95 degree nonsense of upstate New York. At this moment, there was a fog-like haze to the city, obscuring the tops of buildings, allowing for spirits to pass into the earthly realm.
There has always been something grandly beguiling about Boston in the spring – the way the flowers nod and scent the air with their loveliness, the way the nights warm just enough to provide a comfortable atmosphere for a stroll, or the way the denizens arise as if from a winter-long hibernation, refreshed and slightly groggy, ready to see the world all over again and partake in its beauty. It turns out there has been something bewitching at work too, a magic I’ve noticed peripherally in the last few years, something that hints at something more, but that has proven elusive and difficult to pin down.
The lure of the sea had been calling to me for years. One of the things I always loved about Boston was its proximity to the ocean – the salty water that offered exit to the rest of the world after the vast expanse of its body. While rarely venturing to the seaside, it was always a comfort to know it was there, gently buffering the hot weather or easing the sharpness of the cold, and sometimes making both worse and conjuring storms more devastating than anything inland might have to endure. Though I kept mostly away from the water, its presence was felt anytime there was water in the air – humidity, showers, snowstorms. You could smell it then, and it was a comfort, the way a home is made more cozy when battered by a winter storm. Proximity to danger somehow lends a safe place even more security. Humans are strange that way.
On this Friday, Boston was bewitching in its usual spring charm, and would prove to be doubly so in more literal hauntings. Kira arrived early – her shift in work hours was finally accepted and she wanted to surprise me, so we began our evening around 5. I was already in the process of setting up a light meal when she texted me that she had arrived, so we eased into dinner gradually, drawing out the process and enjoying the minutes more than we might otherwise have done. Time seemed to operate differently on this weekend as well, keeping us slightly off-balance, and perhaps more susceptible to shifts that would otherwise go unnoticed.
We made one foray into the evening air, for some dessert at the market, and the air was warm enough that we didn’t require jackets – the first time that’s happened on a visit to Boston this year, and a very happy sign of the season. We slept with the windows open, a sea breeze wafting all the way through the condo from the front to the back. The soothing sounds of the Braddock Park fountain mingled with the muffled tones of Les Baxter coming from the stereo. A Friday evening that fulfilled its promise of holding all hope…
