sovay: (Sovay: David Owen)
sovay ([personal profile] sovay) wrote2019-02-05 11:47 pm

All the lights glow every night

If no one has staged a nighttime chase or shootout or even just conversation on the locks of the Charles River Dam, Boston noir is really missing out. Especially by the sharp-edged spots of streetlight, the flat piers of concrete look as vacant and suggestive as a stage without sets, delicately cordoned with sinewaves of chain and backed by the foursquare bricks and polarized glass of the pumping station; it looks made for isolated figures to stand as if waiting for a cigarette's cue while the literal machineries of the city move beneath them, the stopped-clock lifeblood of the river. We were there a little after sunset and I wished I had a camera, although I don't know that I could have caught the poppy-light banded with celadon shading to pure crystal-blue; it lay like an oil-sheen on the water under the Lechmere Viaduct, black and glossy as ice except where rough thin skins of real ice floated by, some with twigs and leaves frozen into them, some with plastic trash bags. Little gulps and swirls of eddies might have been wind, might have been fish. The rush-hour traffic in front of the Museum of Science made wavering red columns under the reflected concrete arches, in front of the reflected spire lit blue-green as Basidium, with the gold-and-jade reflection of a Green Line train going by upside-down, burring the smooth water with its passing. Under the Zakim we got green and red lanterns reflecting from the underside of the bridge, white LED-scatter off the far side of TD Garden, flares of sodium from the drawbridge out of North Station where the commuter trains squealed and hauled under the North Bank Bridge. And when we got to the dam itself and stood behind the rail of the Charlestown Bells, there the Zakim itself was, rippling in the dark shining water as if rooted in it, its cable-stays white zigzags, the wishbone split of its tower edged trembling luminescent blue, like a nudibranch. It did not come out in the one picture [personal profile] spatch took with his phone: spirit photography is tough. We walked on to North Station and then took miraculously not too awful public transit home.

I had gotten stir-crazy in the mid-afternoon and the weather was sunny and mild enough for me to leave the house without my chest seizing up with cold, so we walked into Union Square with vague ideas of Gracie's, but when we got there we kept going into Inman and then up to Lechmere and then to the North Point Park, whence the above. On the way we discovered Highland Fried, which has the best logo for a restaurant that is honest-to-God apparently a fried chicken tiki bar, and Silk Road, which as far as I can tell is the only Uyghur restaurant in Boston. What we actually had for dinner was hamburgers, made from scratch in the skillet as soon as we got home; we bought sweet rolls from the Winter Hill Bakery to toast and eat them on. They were delicious. I feel very strongly about food as something to enjoy even if it's not fancy, regardless of whether it's plated suitable for Instagram or not. I topped mine with the goat's milk pepper jack I had bought on the spot in Star Market last month, because goat. I had to pull Autolycus off the cutting board twice.

My mood is still baseline miserable and my brain feels uselessly blank, but I like walking around this city; I like how it looks by different lights and seasons, full of colors and water. It is beautiful to me. I feel protective about it. Rob took a picture of me at the locks. It is full of sodium light, but I like it.

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