It was the first time I traveled by myself. I was exploring Boston, meandering along the red line that winds its way from one historical site to another, while the discman in my purse blasted Air. The red line (aka The Freedom Trail) ends at Bunker Hill. The sun was brilliant on that June day and I lay in the grass, squinting up at the clouds. Cherry Blossom Girl started playing. I watched a little girl do somersaults in the grass and dance. Her tumbles were in perfect time with the soft rhythm of the song. The little girl was pure joyfulness. She found a feather in the grass and for some reason brought it over to me and said "This is for you." Then her dad called to her, telling her it was time to go home.
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