Determined to enjoy the few remaining sunny Saturdays before the onset of winter, I took a stroll down Beacon Hill. A market on Charles Street yielded a display of oranges watched over by a neighborhood Corgi, not indifferent to a young bell-ringer plying her trade next door.
Nearby, an upscale hardware shop window touted household iron, crystal and brass trinkets priced in the stratospheric reaches. I gazed upon the parade of store windows filled with exotic clothing. Unexpectedly, someone took my picture. Did they mistake me for
Anna Wintour? Maybe on a good day. And this was a banner day, at that.
Determined to enjoy the few remaining sunny Saturdays before the onset of winter, I took a stroll down Beacon Hill. A market on Charles Street yielded a display of oranges watched over by a neighborhood Corgi, not indifferent to a young bell-ringer plying her trade next door.
Nearby, an upscale hardware shop window touted household iron, crystal and brass trinkets priced in the stratospheric reaches. I gazed upon the parade of store windows filled with exotic clothing. Unexpectedly, someone took my picture. Did they mistake me for Anna Wintour? Maybe on a good day. And this was a banner day, at that.
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