It’s that point in the distance where the road, river, valley, or bridge comes together. It’s the natural end of a parallel set of lines.
We live in rural Massachusetts, but it’s hard to think of it as “the great outdoors.”
There’s something a bit enclosed about New England. Trees and stone fences. No big open areas, but smaller sections. Fields, valleys, rivers, lakes … and an amazing Atlantic coast. We are less grand than the west but cozier. Greener.
Less grand than the west, but friendlier. And we get more than enough snow to make up the difference!
Nancy Merrill is asking for a picture on the horizon. I guess that could include sunrise, sunset, city skyline, or a roof. In this case, it’s simply the skyline of the road on which we were traveling — Route 201 northbound to Skowhegan, Maine.
It was September, the beginning of Autumn in Maine. And with each mile northward we drove, the more autumnal the scenery became. It isn’t just the latitude. It’s also the altitude. As we drove north, we were also driving up into the mountains.
There are quite a few more people who should have pictures than I have room for but suffice to say, I have forgotten no one.
It has been a hectic year, at end of which — Garry can hear. Our deck is full of birds. The Duke roams the woods at will. Short of rebuilding the fence, which is out of the question, I have to hope he’s not planning to go anywhere — like the road. He doesn’t go anywhere. Duke roams the front and backwoods, then jumps into the yard and come home for a treat. He’s been good, hasn’t he?
There’s not enough room to include all the friends and family and everything … but you are all remembered and loved!
The glowing light from within is special. The light in the pumpkin, the light in the teepee. The light within the globe of a lamp or inside the lampshade.