I examined my options in Bourne and made my choice. This wasn't it.
I wanted to walk at Sacrifice Rock Woods, just for the name. I figured there had to be a story. But when I got there, I found I was too late. A developer got his hands on it last year and permanently ruined the land for open space seekers.
So I retreated to the old Bourne standby, a walk along the edge of the Cape Cod Canal. I walked west, toward the Buzzards Bay end, away from the Sagamore Bridge. The wind worked against me, and even if I couldn't, for some reason, feel it stinging my face, I could tell which way it was blowing by looking at the ducks. They face into the wind, to allow the streamlining of their feathers to keep the cold away from their skin. Their bills all pointed to the west, and I marched that way under their orders.
The access road that acts as a trail along the canal is straight, flat and wide, and today it was used by only a handful of us. The portion of it I walked today contains a herring run, with signs strictly forbidding the taking of the small endangered creature. We used to take them by the thousands, but now they're just about gone. It's just amazing, the impact we've had on this part of the planet.
Anyway, by walking the canal, I now have the right to use some alliteration at the end of this project. The day I visit the last town in the state, I'll write, in my best FDR voice, "From the Berkshires to Boston, from Provincetown to Pepperell to Petersham, from the Connecticut River to the Cape Cod Canal..."
Crap! I just used it. Oh well, might as well have fun with the voice. "The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself! Today, December 7, 1941, is a day which will live in infamy! Eleanor, bring me my long cigarette holder!" (That latter one is from a very obscure tape recording that doesn't exist.)