I am sitting on a train right now, making my way to the North Shore. I will end the day in Vermont, part of a complicated dance that will, in about a week, get me onto a plane bound for palm trees and – in theory – warmer weather.

As the train pulled out of North Station, I set down my book and looked up at the Zakim. Soon, I was taking in the view of the skyline, with the Hancock and the Pru looming blue over the city below.

This is, by and large, the view I always eagerly sought out when I was a little girl riding the train into Boston. As the commuter train approached the city, I would press my face against the glass, seeking out that very first glimpse of blue-gray skyscraper. I wouldn’t stop staring until North Station swallowed up the view and welcomed us to the city. And on the trip back home, I would stare at the skyline until it finally slipped out of view.

I moved to metro Boston almost three years ago. The sight of the skyline is now part of my daily routine. And yet I still sit on the side of the T that faces the skyline when the Red Line travels across the Longfellow. I still take photographs of the view from a variety of locations.

And yes, when I am riding the train north, I still watch the blue buildings disappear shortly after Chelsea.

The view is even prettier as an adult than when I was a little girl. Back then it represented the place I wanted to get to know. Today it’s a view of home.

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