This weekend I hope to find myself back in Boston, where I’ll be meeting my friend Alissa and her daughter for a catch-up dinner. There is much to tell – we only see each other every few months, and these last few months have been action-packed to say the least. Along with this recent lifting of a haze, I feel a renewed desire to reconnect with those people who matter the most to me – the friends who have been in my life for a decade and a half, some even longer.

These are the ones who know me inside and out, and are able to see certain patterns and changes that sometimes not even I have been able to discern. They’re often better than a mirror or a counselor, and they offer honest insight and tough truths, because that’s what good friends do. They will also be there for me no matter what may come. We will be there for each other. That sense of comfort confounds any sense of loneliness.

Given their respective size, it’s strange that I should feel so much safer in Boston than in Downtown Albany, but such is the case. Even on dark evenings, passing by alleyways like this, I feel a greater comfort and security than if I were to pass similar spots in upstate New York. Of course it’s all in my head, but sometimes that’s where the power of safety resides. It helps too that the Back Bay/South End area of Boston is relatively benign when it comes to crime, at least in the hours that I frequent the surrounding streets. (No more 2 AM strolls for me.)

Far from being spooky or haunting, these scenes delight with their subtle air of mystery and timelessness. Echoes of Europe, for which I’ve always loved Boston, sound off the cobblestone walks, whispers of a past life sharing secrets shrouded in a dusty veil. No more than a whisper can be heard tonight, not above the rising wind and a growing chill. Shadows fix themselves in place beneath street lamps, where they will remain until the first light of day washes them away. In the summer, a stray skunk might be seen waddling amid the garbage, seeking out sustenance, or a raccoon, that pesky night bandit, bold in its natural mask. Tonight, however, in the dead middle of winter, there is nothing to be seen.

In the morning, the sun streams in through the front windows of the Boston condo. By afternoon, it has shifted to the bedroom bay window, but thanks to the gigantic mirror of the John Hancock Tower, it also pours in through the front windows again, until the leaves of Braddock Park fill in come the spring. This has always been a favorite, and fleeting, space to be – in that zone where sun pours in from both sides. Along the Southwest corridor you can actually step into spots where it feels like two suns are shining upon you at once. It’s nothing short of magical, and I’ve often stopped still in my tracks when I realize I’ve stepped into those ethereal pools of shifting light.

The photos here play with the fading light of a winter’s day, and its reflections. As the sun slowly descended, a chill crept in with the dusk. The wind picked up a bit and I pulled my coat more tightly around my chest. A dinner of pho had momentarily warmed me, but it drained quickly as I hurried along Massachusetts Avenue down to Columbus, catching the last of the day’s sunlight on the dome of the Christian Science Center.

This isn’t an area I typically traverse. Most errands or walks take me in the opposite direction, so it’s been at least a year -“ probably more – since I’ve been this far down Columbus. At the dimming of the day, there was something sad about it, about how much I had been missing.

Luke Adams Gifting Co., a new shop on that stretch of Columbus that I rarely frequent, had opened up in the last few months. They had a neat selection of unique gifts, and a nice assortment of letterpress cards. I spoke with the shop owner who said they’d only recently had a soft opening, and were offering some glass-blowing classes to get word out that they were there. I purchased a few cards and went back into the quickly-darkening afternoon.

Right next door was a coffee shop that I didn’t stop in that moment, but I will on my next trip. The old neighborhood has come a long way, and is still evolving. I have missed that – the new stores and cafes that open up a few blocks away, the excitement of trying out new things. I don’t do it when I’m in upstate New York, and not only because there are less things happening. That just means there is more to explore whenever I get back to Boston.

After our dinner, we decided to walk back to the condo, by way of the Public Garden. It will always be a place of comfort for me, no matter what. At night, it holds a different sort of enchantment, especially at the end of winter. The first spot of color on the willow offered a bright bit of hope. The line of ducklings made its way toward the water. The foot-bridge glowed in the midst of a sea of snow. And Washington stood sentry atop a very high horse.