I spent most of last week in Chicago for a convention. The city, like most cities, is a study in contrasts - wealth and poverty, skyscrapers and parks, traffic and solitude, white, black and everyone in between. I love the energy of a large city, but really crave the peace of my small town that I call home.
The next to the last evening I was there, I took a walk in the park across from my hotel over to the edge of Lake Michigan. It was cool, but not the bracing cold I had expected, and there was a slight wind. The trees were bare and the grass had turned that dirty shade of greenish-brown. Just yards from one of the busiest streets in downtown Chicago there were birds and squirrels. The further I walked into the part, the more faint the traffic became. It was lovely. The photo above was the entrance to a bridge that spanned the rail system that connects parts of Chicago. I love the old lightposts and globes. I could almost imagine this spot a hundred years ago with children playing and adults strolling arm in arm.
Today I'm home again where I walk along much quieter streets, where I know my neighbors and they know me, where people do not rush along the sidewalks on their way to important meetings. I'm glad I had the chance to experience Chicago, but I am even more grateful to be home.