Thursday, August 29, 2013

Foggy Dreams

Without my usual cup of coffee I stumble onto my bike, and forge through the fog. Thick, warm New England moisture paints surreal pastures. Crickets scream. Tree frogs whistle. I begin to imagine I could be anywhere... 

Pedaling beside Cape Cod's tall grasses. Gulls screech. Atlantic fog wraps me in a saltwater breeze.

Or, somewhere in the heartland. Flat. Hay bales stretching into infinity. Cornfields. Whining cicadas.

Some scenes are ubiquitous. It could be Northeast dairy land, or perhaps a Northwest valley, Southern drenched lowland.

But the sugar house reveals that this is definitely Vermont. Land of golden maples that ooze sweet sap.

Red barns appear. Another fortuitous sign.

The fog begins to lift as I enter the long driveway, flanked in more maples. I'm ready for that cup of strong, black tea.

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