I’ve fallen into a pattern of walking the main streets of New Hampshire’s major cities whenever the weather is nice and I’m able to find a good-enough excuse.
A pattern of parking just far enough outside of the downtown area that I avoid the meters, walking until I’ve blistered the parts of my feet that meet the edges of my shoes, and eventually returning back to the real world, exhausted and filled and achy and whole.
On Thursday, the weather is predicted to jump as high as the 50s. Practically unheard of, especially for New Hampshire in February. This time two years ago, we were shoveling ourselves out of yet another blizzard. Two years later, we’re watching the snow melt into muddy puddles.