The sky was as gray and wrinkled as an elephant's belly, the clouds were flecked with flint, Dorchester Bay was as flat and featureless and dull as slate. The fog carried hints of obsidian and a whiff of long spent grape shot into my nostrils as I climbed Dorchester Heights.
Dorchester Heights. The name sticks like catarrh in the throat of native and adopted Dorchesterites. Officially part of South Boston, this was once part of the Dot and should be still. A monumental tower crowns the hilltop to commemorate a battle decisively won against the Redcoats, unlike the moral victory won at Bunker Hill.
My steps up the steep incline were heavy and well planted. My heart labored easily, it thrilled at the the scrape of my hush puppies on the sidewalk. Dorchester Heights...courage, planning, discipline, and will won a momentous battle one historic day on this promontory. I took a seat on the steps of the monument that stands on hallowed ground where freedom fighters defended their liberty and George Washington himself paced directing the troops.
Like Washington, I looked to the north and viewed Boston Harbor and the city that occupies the bay. Like Washington must have done, I looked to the south. The cloud cover broke for a moment and all of Dorchester lay spread out in all its glory under the golden rays of the sun. The moment passed in less than a minute but I saw Dorchester bathed in heavenly light. I knew in my heart what Washington was fighting for. From the Heights, one realizes that any hamlet or burg has the same potential Dorchester hides in its breadth.
No comments:
Post a Comment