I wanted to make love tonight before writing and now its after midnight, but qucikly.
We have had dinner three nights in a row this week at B.U. West, and my idea was to walk through the common, visit the swans, walk through Copley Square and then have dinner, but we had dinner first.
As strange as it would seem, we usually watch the news near B.U. when there. This afternoon, she overrode my idea and we went to dinner first. We watched CNN, which is how we spent Patriot's Day. Copley Square happenned to again be on CNN this time, so I kept the original idea. When we got there the same to anchorwomen we were watching on television were still there. Usually we visit Marsh Chapel, but this time we went to Trinity and Donna took a raincheck on a tour of the church
(I don't really see Trinity as a museum, and I only casually mention I was in the basement a long time ago with Steven Tyler, the lead vocalist, I think the same year that I talked to Livingston Taylor at the Garden Street Church--but I said that we could tour the church and go in and she could pray....I'm not rambling, Daltrey "waved back" to me right in front of Boston Public Library near the subway years later...but its late and she and I been together all night.)
So Donna got to see two television journalists, which was part of her major in college and we spent the afternoon that would have been with the Swans and the swanboats walking past the statue of John Singleton Copley. I can't find a picture of Trinity this late at night, so I quickly add a map.
The poetry of it I tried to explain was that it was about innocent people and other people that were unharmed left pictures of Jesus, so I said that in part was the theory of Jesus and arriving at a good thought or feeling, or a thought of goodness. I also tried to explain that prayer was ok because we were near there that afternoon without telling her that we we near both B.U and M.I.T and it would better to write a prose description of the latter, that she didn't see the helicopters at midnight going toward the University and that I wouldn't tell her with my voice that "a barrage of sirens" could be heard going towards M.I.T,( that she didn't really hear, although I know I did) if I could put it into short story.
I'm tired from making love and its late.
The above link is to the below volume on the Colonial, untill I find other books...for now: