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