It’s a sultry morning here in Maine: the kind that might make you think you were in Antigua waiting for an early morning coffee on the porch of a house overlooking English Bay and around you were the remnants of a late night party with one pale pink sandal cast off in the corner. You walk to the edge of the porch and gaze out over the bay and you notice you are alone. I wonder if one notices the beauty of a place when one is not alone? I wonder if the edge of night that has merged into the light of day would go unspoken about The warm breezes that could so easily be drying the sweet mornings of love makings in other houses would not be felt as poignantly if one were with another. The makings of a dream would be lost in other lost recipes and flour, butter and eggs would be cast aside to be forgotten. Breakfast should always be bacon no matter where in the world you are and those that say otherwise have no knowledge of what life is. Even British bacon has its merits and the smell alone is enough to bring you into nursery dreams of cream merging with stories that always end happily.There are spirits here on North Haven visiting me nightly: having asked for years what it is they cry for now I give them up. There are a few plaintive midnight cries but for the most part I am alone and peaceful. How many moments like this will I have until the next life, I wonder? I spent last night with my friend, Violet, who is 89. We went to a local wine tasting and she decided half way through the event to pour all the little bits of wine from her 5 glasses into one so she could enjoy it! Isn’t that the best idea? Kindove like what we should be doing in life!
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