I take an afternoon walk north out of Cambridge in light rain. I see a bird on a fence—grey, black eyebrow, blue tail-feather part—bluejay? juvenile? I walk to a neighbourhood ballpark, under pines, and back. Later I have dinner outside with two old friends—they are tired from their program; we keep the wind at bay; there is no rain. And somewhere on this longer walk I feel a strong connection to all this Massachusetts.