I have lived in Portsmouth since June. It is nearly November. And I am still enchanted with this place. It’s all brick and wood and books. Old bridges, old shops, older houses, a blue door, a red door, the trolley.
Morning Stroll by Eric Gendron
No one hustles here. But boy the town did bustle in summer; I miss that. And here comes the pending halt of winter; I fear that. Right now. Right now, it is fall. we are in an inter seasonal warp between the most liveliness I have ever seen and what will probably be the most like death I have ever seen. It looks as though everything is dying. But dying with valor!
The colors of autumn are simply brilliant. Some trees look like blood, some match pumpkins, and a few resemble sunshine. It is like a contagious cold is being carried by the chilled breeze and making the trees sneeze leaves. Winter has already struck some bows bare while summer still lingers in a few branches.
The streets are similarly decorated. Some residents deck themselves in lengthy coats, scarves, and ear-covering caps while others scurry in cardigans. Some have resigned themselves to their homes and lit their fireplaces while others are scrounging for last chance hiking trips. Soon enough, winter will catch up with us all. Right now. Right now, it is fall.
