June 12, 2007
Itís only a short walk to my friendís house after I arrive at the 150 year old train station. Her street is one way and a block long, with tall trees arching overhead to create a bower in the golden, early-evening light. The houses on the street are the same vintage as the train station, some even older. They are soft red brick, or pale stucco, or old grey-gold stone, quarried locally, and sit close to the sidewalk. Itís a truly charming street, in a truly charming town. My friend opens the door, smiling, and hugs me. Iím welcome.