Waveland and Sheffield


I dropped Eamon and Thom off at the airport at 6 a.m.–they had 7 a.m. flights–and driving back in on the Kennedy it felt like I had the city more or less to myself. One thing led to another. I stopped at a Starbucks at Roscoe and Seeley where they always have some local art displayed. I drove by Dinkel’s bakery on Lincoln Avenue, but they appear to be respecting the holiday and were closed. Soon I found myself at Steve Goodman’s “ivy-covered burial ground,” pictured above. It was just after sunrise, and I loved the way the “Win” flag was fluttering from the scoreboard (to be honest, an “L” flag would have been equally picturesque and arguably more representative of this year’s Cubs. But why ruin a beautiful morning with that sort of speculation?) I parked on a street where parking would be impossible during normal business hours. A cop sat in her SUV cruiser and watched me take a couple of pictures. Then I headed back north.



The Missouri River just south of Chamberlain, South Dakota (about 150 miles west of Sioux Falls).

In some part of my mind, I pleasurably anticipate travel. But I don’t like planning for an airline trip or packing for it. I don’t enjoy dealing with the virtual and physical gauntlet air travel forces us to run. I don’t relish facing the group unhappiness that greets you at the gate and accompanies you as long as you’re in the isolated world of your flight. No, I’m not enamored of any of that.

But from the moment the plane leaves the ground to the moment it touches down, it’s hours of visual poetry (assuming of course I have the window seat I want).


The approach to O’Hare, just west of the airport.