Today is one of those days which feels distinctly New England. The temperature is such that shorts are still appropriate and you can, if you’re not thinking, believe that you can comfortably wear a long-sleeve rugby. According to a reliable weather source, the synoptic forecast is 66 degrees. I think it’s slightly warmer; I broke a sweat walking down Mass Ave after dinner just now, but then again, I am wearing that long-sleeve rugby.

While walking up Mass Ave to dinner, I grudgingly noticed that today was one of those days which might be responsible for the transcendentalist movement. Cambridge is a small town, which believes itself so important as to elevate it to city-status. But the low-lying buildings and tree-lined four lane streets belie its grander pursuits. This is small town New England. You can tell because in almost every direction, a white steeple, probably Congregational or Unitarian, puntuates the horizon.

On the corner of the street, I noticed a tiny lady walking her even tinier dog. Both must’ve been in their fifties, in the respective human and dog year scales, that is. The woman was sporting thick angular glasses and a flamboyant, large hat. Her dog was resting patiently while her owner — I’ve met this dog before — chatted to a new friend she happened upon during tonights walk. I wanted to stop to catch up but decided against it.

This sort of day makes me think that maybe I could spend a few years at Dartmouth. They have days like this with as many steeples and even more trees. Maybe too many trees. It’s hard to know. But I should check it out, the Seven Barrel Brewery is there, you should know.