Thankful for a great vacation-week in Forest City, Maine (waaaay up North) where you can fall asleep to the cries of loons, where a small brown duck can fly into your island log-cabin to waddle about for a spell, where a fish-filled-lake makes for your front "lawn", where the night stars are brighter than the the halogen beam lamps of most cars, where there's no electricity, cellphones, computers, or television sets (amen), where red squirrels are so bold they'll eat cashews from your hand on the first offering, where bats chatter in the chimney rafters after nightfall and swoop down close enough to feel the flaps of their wings brush your hair, where you can see more species of birds flit about your forested spot than you can count on both hands and feet, where people are so dependent on community because in such isolation it means not just friendship but survival, where someone carrying a gun is the farthest thing from a criminal or a cop, where 'Billy & Nan' are a local legend of two island bound lovers, where a rickety old wooden canoe makes for a great wild-blueberry harvesting-float, where "typical Maine weather" can vary from a sweltering 90 degree heat to quarter-sized hail stone storms in mid-July, where a moose sighting is as common as seeing your neighbor's dog, where bear cages cover every dumpster, where SUVs actually serve a purpose(!), and where every sunset is a major event.
And, of course, dragonflies. Tons of colorful (mosquito-eating!)
dragonflies.
Dennis
