Two and a Half Hours

The train headed north from 125 street. On the two hour ride, I listened to Mr. Dylan and responded to emails in typical Saturday morning fashion. By noon, the train made its last stop in northern Connecticut, and half an hour later, I was walking down the snow dusted driveway of the Wijnberg's house in Ashley Falls, MA.

Worlds away from my Manhattan apartment, I set down my pack in the mudroom of the 200 year old house and set off on a walk with Nick, Jacob and their eight month old puppy.

The cold New England air and rolling farmland took me back to my time in Maine, clearing my mind of the distractions amassed spending 12 hours a day in an office building in Midtown. As we trolled down the country road, the occasional farm dog barked and ran to the edge of the fence. Every so often a pickup truck gave us a wide birth, slowing and echoing a friendly honk.

Making it back to the house at twilight, Lorenzo (the Wijnberg's eight month old Italian Spinone) fell to the floor in a deep sleep, resting on his crossed paws. After starting a fire and stocking it with enough wood to last a few hours, I followed suit, measuring my length on a couch.

Late afternoon's light.

Wood smoke.

The woods.

104 years old.

Early morning light.

A dusting.

The next morning, I woke early, cherishing the country quite and cold before heading back to the city. Like sitting in a hot tub and then jumping in the snow, the contrasts invigorate, making each extreme more pronounced and apparent.

Here are some more links,

Two and a Half Hours (Picasa),

Foster Huntington (Twitter).