There was a lot of time spent on the road by myself. Driving just over three hours each way. The drive was tiring but so so pretty. I got to see the first hints of fall foliage brushing the treetops and the crisp cool sky that is all gray and reminds me, now fondly, of the gray city Rochester. I remembered what great lighting I lived my college days in. How cozy I always made myself up there, in sweaters, scarves, with coffee in hand and apples lining my dorm room vanity. The memory of the warmth of the library reading halls, the thick upholstery and old golden wood, reminded me that you can't understand a plush carpet or a snug chair or a big wool throw unless you also feel cold.
Things have no meaning unless we give it to them. Places have meaning beyond what we know.