Through a window, at sixty miles an hour.

New Jersey's highways, especially the Turnpike, seemed to have their own unique quality of ugly sprawl, something which rather disappeared once the "New York: Empire State" sign popped up. Or was I just imagining that, based on all the stereotypes of the Garden State / Land of the Mall that everyone, even---particularly---New Jerseyans, has been feeding me?
What Darvin was saying about how New Jersey was the very definition of suburbia also seemed to bear itself out (or perhaps once again, was coloring my view.) Compared to the sprawling prevalence of built-up areas in the Garden State, New York and even Connecticut seemed to have more clearly-delineated rural-urban boundaries, almost in the European mode. The striking towers of Waterbury's Union Station and St. Anne's Church were all the more striking for having appeared almost suddenly after a long passage through relative, lightly-forested emptiness.

I'd like to actually visit these places one day, instead of just flying through on a coach. But then again, would it actually be worth the time and expense to travel through a generally unremarkable stretch of the semi-urban Northeast? The same dilemma is happening in my life, on a slightly larger scale: there are all these paths which all seem interesting, which all seem like they could lead somewhere. But they're all going to take time and energy and expense to pursue, and as much as I would like to, I'm not going to be able to follow up on all of them. So what now?

But anyway, it's approaching eight, and the sun is setting over central Massachussetts. The Mass Pike just flew over a small lake: it was lovely to see the waning light of the sun dance serenely off the watery mirror.
Soon we will arrive in Boston, and then the bustle of life will start anew.