In the airport I scribbled a list of moments that didn’t make the camera roll, titled it, “Glimpses of New Orleans”. Don’t forget, I told myself. I knew it was precious. I didn’t know how much.

We first came to Rockland in summertime. It was a heady season in our lives, though we felt so sturdy on our feet, a full year into our life together, a quarter-century into life itself. We were on the hunt for lighthouses and had seen pictures of Rockland Breakwater engulfed by the tide.

I look upon places with eyes of love. Especially this place. The bustling harbor on the mouth of the Acushnet. The five glimmering lighthouses and the cobblestoned hill. The underground railroad and the Liberty Bell. The gentle plot of land where my mother is laid to rest. The City that Lit the World.