At not hell o'clock in the afternoon, everything rushing past the windows is crowdingly green, faintly bronzed over as if on the far side of summer already. A profusion of swamp cabbage among rust-colored pools and little creeks. Now enough of a river for a bridge, flatly sun-shot and silt-colored under the concrete. A second bridge and down the steep vine-tumbled slope, the rust-stitches of older rails and ties running alongside stone-whitened water. Here's the graffiti-rainbowed ruins of a warehouse in old weathered brick the prevailing color of the non-vegetal theme; we grow those in New England. I don't know this country at all.
I feel very grateful for my window seat in the quiet car, since the conductor keeps reminding us that the train is sold out.![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
selkie says the travel gods are extending my vacation. As from all vacations, I seem to be returning with stuff I didn't have when I left: one pair of hand-me-down swim trunks (red-and-white Hawaiian print), one hand-me-up tank top (lemon-yellow), two books (Le Guin and Kazin), and a bottle of medicinal bitters which Selkie made for me and spatch in December and which may have self-actualized into a Molotov cocktail since (the hand-printed, reaper-decorated label reads "Deathy Death Death"). One program for an adult b'nei mitzvah. Two small Polaroids of my godchild striking deliberately silly poses. They took one of me sitting on the back of the couch—it was the very last shot in the roll—and kept it. I have also this sort of hobo bundle of snacks which has served me in good stead so far, even if I doubt its various components will all make it back to Boston.
I even slept, which is not guaranteed either on vacation or at home. Last night I slept on the bottom tier of a bunk bed with a nine-year-old on the top: they had especially asked to. Either they are a very quiet sleeper or I was hammered by the expenditure of yesterday, but it went fine. I did have to shut off the audiobook of Ramona Forever (1984) they had fallen asleep to; it didn't wake them. They woke before me, but did not hold it against me by the time I got up. They were eating waffles.
Everyone dropped me at the Grosvenor-Strathmore station. The Red Line came on time and I only had to pay 45¢ extra to get out of the Metro; otherwise my fare card held up for the entire trip. I stood on line at Union Station and read. I should be home before midnight if Amtrak does its job. I have told everyone that next time they need to come to Boston. My godchild needs more sea.
I feel very grateful for my window seat in the quiet car, since the conductor keeps reminding us that the train is sold out.
selkie says the travel gods are extending my vacation. As from all vacations, I seem to be returning with stuff I didn't have when I left: one pair of hand-me-down swim trunks (red-and-white Hawaiian print), one hand-me-up tank top (lemon-yellow), two books (Le Guin and Kazin), and a bottle of medicinal bitters which Selkie made for me and spatch in December and which may have self-actualized into a Molotov cocktail since (the hand-printed, reaper-decorated label reads "Deathy Death Death"). One program for an adult b'nei mitzvah. Two small Polaroids of my godchild striking deliberately silly poses. They took one of me sitting on the back of the couch—it was the very last shot in the roll—and kept it. I have also this sort of hobo bundle of snacks which has served me in good stead so far, even if I doubt its various components will all make it back to Boston.I even slept, which is not guaranteed either on vacation or at home. Last night I slept on the bottom tier of a bunk bed with a nine-year-old on the top: they had especially asked to. Either they are a very quiet sleeper or I was hammered by the expenditure of yesterday, but it went fine. I did have to shut off the audiobook of Ramona Forever (1984) they had fallen asleep to; it didn't wake them. They woke before me, but did not hold it against me by the time I got up. They were eating waffles.
Everyone dropped me at the Grosvenor-Strathmore station. The Red Line came on time and I only had to pay 45¢ extra to get out of the Metro; otherwise my fare card held up for the entire trip. I stood on line at Union Station and read. I should be home before midnight if Amtrak does its job. I have told everyone that next time they need to come to Boston. My godchild needs more sea.
