A thunderstorm had crashed through central Connecticut at 2:30 p.m. I was going to take someone up Mount Higby, a traprock hill just off Route 66 between Middlefield and Meriden. He was worried it would thunder and pour rain again. So I went alone. And these are the trips that matter. These are the forays that take me out of my distracted, list-making accelerator-pedal life. The wind was crazy. The birches bent toward me. Another storm blew over without settling at all. Then brilliant sun.
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