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Nestled midst two steeply convergent streets,
 at the foot of a deep ravine, 
it is perhaps a five minute walk from town square.
 
 Like the movie, a river runs through it —
a brook really, although it challenges the boundaries at times of heavy rain —
 in a grove of maple, oak, and silver birch at the back of the property.
 
Foundation pieces from a century old grist mill
sit in precariously slanted arrangements along the side.
 
It is quiet, fresh, and altogether lovely.
It is a place of connection and renewal.
There is nowhere I would rather be.
 
 
copyright r.b. franklin 24/11/09
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