Grateful, but...

Oh yes, I am grateful for every minute of every day, but sometimes, just sometimes, I think about what is coming. Like MAINE. I miss it. The quiet, star-flecked night and the rare shimmering veils of the northern lights. Fireflies rising from the grass that skirts our driveway, winds whistling through our back screen door and then right out the front screen. Waves slapping the ledges or thundering up and down the coast. The scent of the fir trees, huge granite boulders patchworked with lichens, moss and miniature toadstools, faerie landscapes tucked under bushes and beside tiny spruce trees, slow and easy meals at the old round table in the screened porch, the chugging sound of lobster boats, a pocket full of mermaid's tears from a seaside adventure, holding hands with Jeff as we take our midnight "bat walk" with bats flying between us, crackling applewood in our stone fireplace, and morning sunlight streaming through the windows and lighting our rooms with a rose-colored glow.

Bear with me please and let me dream. I'll dip into some old Maine posts, and then you'll understand why this country-girl-trapped-in-a-city yearns for her beloved old seaside cottage.