This morning is the first in a week where I've seen the sun in Geneva. I wandered the streets of the old city nevertheless, missing Val and my boys to death, the rain making the warmth of their presence more keenly felt.
What a strange and wonderful thing modern travel has become. Wake up to an email on Friday, find yourself in Paris on a Sunday morning. Tailwinds over the cold, immeasurable bulk of the Atlantic meant that I arrived at Gare de Lyon over an hour early than expected.
It was with some hesitation that I floated along the Seine, half in a daze, to see Notre Dame. One of a thousand pilgrims, but for reasons other than religion.
Had I my choice, I would have had a day to spend, to wander, and to explore, but a few moments was all I could spare. It felt like a terrible tease and a crime, this being one of the prime examples of my very favorite form of architecture, and me with but 20 minutes or so to spend. Another time, soon I think.
" ... I rose in a rainy autumn and walked abroad in a shower of all my days ..." —Dylan Thomas, Poem in October
Walk with a child in an October wood to understand what is magic about fall.
My wife and I both arrived on campus in Hyde Park, nearly 15 years ago to the day. We didn't know one another then and though anyone could have accurately predicted the broad brush strokes of our lives—education, marriage, children, etc.—it's the details between points A & B that make a life.
We returned to campus this past week to see the oaks redolent in fall color, to see our tow-headed little Oliver play amongst the stone buildings and throw stones in botany pond. He jumped in great piles of onion-skin, and parchment-crackling reds and yellows and shouted—as he ran from the social sciences quad to Hutchinson Court—"Whatchu call dis park?"
There is something about fall on campus...
Henry Everett Kern, born 10/21/2014 at 12:32p in the afternoon. 21.5 inches long and 8lb 2oz. We are all well and overjoyed to welcome him into the world.
My wife, son Oliver and I spend the day before Henry was born traipsing through leaves and enjoying one more afternoon as a crew of three and eagerly waiting the morrow. The sunset that evening was as gold and crimson as the leaves and bathed the technicolor oaks and maples with equal measures of light and hope.
Our best to all of you.