Riding over the Mass Ave bridge this morning on the way to
Somerville from Boston I came upon a city on the edge of a fog bank. The skyscrapers of downtown were all shrouded in a thick fog.
A small break in the clouds revealed the golden dome of the statehouse. The surrounding Beacon Hill neighborhood was also catching some heavenly rays.
The Charles River was like glass, reflecting the stillness of the air.
Riding over the Mass Ave bridge in the morning and at on the way home at night is often really beautiful, sunrise on one side, sunset on the other. Riding a bike makes it that much more enjoyable, less like a witness and more like a participant.
Riding over the Mass Ave bridge this morning on the way to Somerville from Boston I came upon a city on the edge of a fog bank. The skyscrapers of downtown were all shrouded in a thick fog.
A small break in the clouds revealed the golden dome of the statehouse. The surrounding Beacon Hill neighborhood was also catching some heavenly rays.
The Charles River was like glass, reflecting the stillness of the air.
Riding over the Mass Ave bridge in the morning and at on the way home at night is often really beautiful, sunrise on one side, sunset on the other. Riding a bike makes it that much more enjoyable, less like a witness and more like a participant.
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