I walk. As many do.
Here in Maine I have come to find that which I already know- the knots, and roots underfoot, the smell of the wet eart, the dry pines. And yet, I am surrounded by the sense that this is a land I do not know. This is not my earth. This is not my peninsula. Even still, I am thankful. I am here. Smells cross my path and I shutter with first kisses and hot days when I did not want to take another step.
I have returned to the land of dreams.
the edges extend to the fields beyond the sea