For example, three Saturdays ago, when a light snow fell through the early afternoon, dusting the late-fall vegetables for sale at the neighborhood farmers' market. The pears, apples, squashes and broccoli all had bits of wet crystals on them and the sky was a pleasantly husky gray. As everyone on Centre Street ran errands -- as usual, I was only one of a handful of people without a stroller or a dog -- the embrace of early winter reminded me of how I imagine people in Burlington manage Saturdays in January. Or for example, when walking east on Green Street in fall or winter mornings, toward the eponymous subway station, and the sun shines sharply through trees, to the point that I have to squint or cross the street into the shade. In the distance beyond the subway, the street climbs a hill on its way to Franklin Park; a church steeple and brick buildings reflect the glare. It makes me think I live in Waterbury, or another of Vermont's large towns (relatively speaking), where the central square is a collection of late-19th century buildings and the sun always falls attractively on them. Then I hop on the subway with about 75 other people and another 600 or so who join at the subsequent stops. That the city simultaneously feels so distant and present, so rural and urban, so intimate and unfamiliar, is wonderful.
Above are photos of Jamaica Pond and the farmers' market.
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