Transportation shapes our lives, allowing us to go on the move. Going to a location by ship, rail, air or road transports us long distances from home in relative comfort. Manny and I taxied from the airport to our hotel.
In Boston, Massachusetts I did not rent a car, but I moved along via the T (metro) to the city and meandered on foot along the red brick road indicating the Freedom Trail.
Throngs of sightseers and Boston natives moved along with me on the Freedom Trail, some on bicycles, a few motor vehicles, but the bulk of them moved on foot.
Loud music and a crowd gathered in a square outside Faneuil Hall, the “Cradle of Liberty,” stopped many people on the move as they took time to listen, watch and participate in a street performance.
We take the ability to move wherever we wish for granted. Across the street from the Freedom Trail towered four plexiglass columns, seeming out of place among all the 18th-century brick buildings that marked the beginning of the freedom experiment in the New World.
I detoured off the red line, still on the move to explore the incongruous structures. A blast of warm air hit me as I moved into the first one as though I opened the glass door on my fireplace.
Mesmerized I read the quote and then gazed through number after number printed on the tower wall. Trapped in the mid-twentieth century symbolic chimneys of Auschwitz, I fixed my eyes on the Freedom Trail of the eighteenth century, and twenty-first-century people on the move across the street.
Only in the total absence of freedom does one recognize the true value “On the Move.”
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