If I were to leave the countryside and move to a crowded city area, I would be haunted for the rest of my life by Maine. I would see her in my dreams. Around every corner I turned, I would be looking for her green shadows. I would be listening for her birds, straining to hear their songs. I would look for the furtive movement of her deer and moose, only to be impoverished and starved by their loss. Alas, in vain I would search for her earthy scent until I perished.
But I am a hunter and I hunt for Maine and I cannot do anything else. I am mesmerized by Maine.
I am in love with her bounty. I
am awed by her beauty. I am left
speechless by her natural wonders. I am
made humble by her vast rivers and lakes.
I am subdued by the treacherous cliffs of her shores. I am enslaved by her uncharted and untouched
territories--wild, terrible, and free.
I am poisoned with her, the Mistress Maine. I am addicted to her, the beguiling green
princess. I am obsessed with her fruited
fields. I am infatuated by her woodland
promises. I am completely enraptured by
her savage wildness. I am lost in the
depths of her mists. I am drowned gladly
in her abundance. I am hopelessly . . .
helplessly . . . drawn by her endlessly . . .
The hunt for the elusive princess continues . . . |