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Summer, Falling down.

September. I’m once again in Brooklin, ME.  Summer crowds now gone, songbirds having caught the urge to go no longer sing in the surrounding woods, even the tide lulls softer; it’s a good silence, deep and comfortable.  Fog sits over the ocean blending colors with the water’s cold blue.  Wet, salt-mist sinks into layers of wool, touches my skin.  I feel new.

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