This is my last planned weekend of on-call crisis work. Though, as always, I will do what I must. It's 2:51 AM, and I'm not sleeping. I've got another week of driving through the bucolic boundary lands between Central and Western Massachusetts. I've enjoyed that drive twice daily for a little over a year now. Three hours a day driving through woods, farms, winding rivers, and a storied reservoir and watershed. Past the bakery she liked so well and their buttery French pastries. Cheese danish. Something made with local pears. I'll exchange all that for the Massachusetts Turnpike and the commute into and out of Boston. Change is good though. Just turn the page.
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