Massachusetts has a state holiday, Patriot’s Day. It’s a Monday in the middle of April, a spring day that always feels like it’s at the beginning of things. It’s like the whole state plays hooky. We have the only major league morning game at Fenway Park, which ends in time for the fans to join the crowds cheering on the marathoners. This year I stayed home to work in the garden.
Those close to me are all safe. I think about the dead and injured. And I know that something intangibly special and wonderful has been destroyed.