The year is ending, and I’m walking uphill again. I cross the square under a low, cloudy sky and stroll up Green Street, then turn onto Chicago Avenue, thinking that it’s the last time I will write this column, remembering why I started.

Imagine your town was not going to last forever. If it was to be changed beyond recognition, what would you wish to salvage from the remains? If you had to leave, what would you want to take with you?

There is something inspiring about the first real breath of cold. We had almost forgotten that our city could produce this weather.