It is full of the most breathtaking parks and views you will find in any American city, hands down, bar none, and I'm not talking through my hat. The Emerald Necklace, the Esplanade, Boston Common, Castle Island, all these places have a charm that cannot be matched. All of these places have the perfect setting for what are essentially perfect jewels. There is one that I like best most of all though, and that's the Public Garden.
With its pond in the middle, the statuary scattered throughout along winding, tree shaded paths, the flower beds different every time you visit and always in full bloom, the statue of General Washington staring down Commonwealth Avenue, the birds, the ducks and, of course, the swan boats, the Public Garden is a place of delights.
Last night I walked through the Public Garden at night. Ducks were sleeping in the lawn and there weren't many people about. A few lovers groped on park benches facing the water, their passion undisguised by the shadows. The swan boats were tied up and moored out of reach. The ruffled breast of the pond caught and tossed back the glittering lights of the Four Seasons and the rest of the surrounding cityscape. A guitar player perched on the cast iron gingerbread bridge, strumming Iberian melodies as people tossed coins into his open guitar case. It was a romantic night.
I've never been in the Public Garden at night before. It was time now that the Domesday clock is ticking. In case you have the impression that I think everything in New Orleans is better, that isn't true. I like City Park and I like Audubon Park, but they are little compared to the beauties Boston's parks harbor.
We didn't stop for a nightcap. The T would stop running in a half hour anyway and we were in no mood to pay for a cab. We went home, the atmosphere of the Public Garden at midnight casting our states of mind. A nice night.
2 comments:
I am happy you are savoring the beauties of Boston and sharing them with your readers, for surely they are incomparable. You will miss them. I still miss peonies and snow, autumn and spring of the upper south--all virtually impossible in New Orleans. Spring is a day or two and true fall never happens here. The price we pay for flowers in winter and dancing in the street is brutal August and the height of hurricane season. One way or another, we always pay a price for living where we choose.
Thanks. I choose to think that I will grow where I am planted. I'm from Connecticut and this is our state motto: "Qui transtulit sustinet." Who transplants sustains. I saw it on the flag growing up and I take it to heart.
Cheers!
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