When I lived in a small upstairs apartment on Boston’s Beacon Hill, I always walked home through Louisburg Square. The beautiful bow-front brick town houses have changed little since they were built in the nineteenth century. After visiting the local library and finding a photo of a milk wagon in this neighborhood, I envisioned the morning routine which once reigned here.

I saw the blue harness on the milkman’s dray. I heard hooves give the wake-up call across cobblestone streets. The sound of glass bottles clinking stirs the sleepy. “Good mornings” are cordially exchanged. A young girl pours cream from the top of a bottle for her kitty. The world awakes to the scent of smoke as yesterday’s embers kindle in kitchen stoves. A workday from a different world begins.