I park my heart in your driveway now

[sovay]

I had to refill a set of medications, so I decided to see how long it would take me to walk to Davis via Broadway instead of the buses or the chain of one-way streets I used last week.

It is beautifully sunny outside, the kind of mildly confusing spring weather where my corduroy jacket wouldn't have stood up to the wind chill, but after ten to twelve minutes of walking the leather jacket is not needed. I am fifteen minutes on foot to Eat at Jumbo's. (This weekend, calzones.) I bought a CD of Tanya Donelly's Lovesongs for Underdogs (1997) and Marion Meade's Bobbed Hair and Bathtub Gin: Writers Running Wild in the Twenties (2004) from The Book Shop, where the man behind the counter handed me a copy of the Somerville News so that I could get in touch with one of the columnists and said he would love if I organized a poetry reading because the store hasn't held one yet this year (so local and not-so-local poets, you know who you are, get in touch with me). The lemon donut at Lyndell's is not superior to Verna's at six in the morning of the 'Thon, but their raspberry is unequivocally the best jelly-filled I've ever had: usually this means a sort of indeterminate fruit-ness the color of the Blob, but theirs was just straight seedless raspberry jam. And deleting the time spent in the bookstore and the bakery, it takes me thirty minutes. A train went under the Broadway commuter rail bridge as I crossed it.

I have just had the kind of afternoon you have on vacation, except all I did was walk from my house to derspatchel's.

I like this.

Comments

[genarti]

I love that walk! I have been known to walk from my house to Davis to spend the evening writing at Diesel, and to do it at least half purely as an excuse for the walk. Sometimes I cut down Cedar Street and go by the bike path instead, but then one misses the bookstop -- albeit in favor of trees and a stalks-and-stakes tangle of community garden. (Cutting down Willow would also be an option, but I haven't done so.)