ClaytonAlexander

I saw the rain-soaked city through splattered bus windows on my ride home from work. I had not been able to tell from the ground whether the flat sky extended far above the buildings or wreathed their peaks with garlands of mist, but here on the Tobin Bridge, high above the Charles River and most of Boston, I saw the needy clouds smother rooftops and the tips of cranes. All that diffused light blunted the rich red Chelsea brick and robbed the streets of their rough dignity by mixing the elegant and the disposable like pearls and plastic stuffed in a thief's sack.