The puffiest of clouds race over the mountaintops as I speed by, molding and forming bizarre shapes before being broken apart. Water surrounds both sides of the pristine highway, reflections that seem never ending.
Love comes quickly in New England.

I turn off the GPS and wander the broken down cobblestone streets of Portland as the salty sea air penetrates my pores. The waterfront houses buildings that have weathered both time and the elements.

In between the busy main streets are local mercantile businesses, thrift stores, consignment shops. Peering through the clean storefront window I see time standing still, future treasures waiting to be discovered.

A local fisherman takes a gander by my side, silent except for a twinkle in his eye as he turns his head and nods to me. I return the salutation, and as quickly as he arrived, down the street he walks. I notice his rubbers and chuckle to myself.

Victorian architecture is abundant here, each home unique with a style all it’s own. It’s a startling contrast to the barns found just a few miles outside the city.

The two parallels of life here in New England.


Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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