Found this today in a journal I kept during a trip to the Adirondacks almost two years ago, the entirety of which is written as a long, rambling letter:
Passing through Poughkeepsie. Wish I could get off the train and stare out on the Hudson, like I did last spring with Alex. I remember his brother walked off down the shore a bit, and Alex and I stood there admiring the glimmering reflection of light from the bridge heading over the river. He started talking about marrying a girl someday, maybe, if it all worked out, and bringing her to a town like this one, and painting her a white house, with shutters, there would have to be shutters, and they would put the fence up together… I honor his simple dream. I honor his desire to have a simple thing of joy in his life, not a great deal of fuss and success, just a house, and a wife, and some place pleasant with hilly forests and rivers. What more could you want, really.