Fort McClary

Kittery, Maine.

We wandered, caressing the ruins.

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Touching stone hewn before our grandparents were born.

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Feeling the marks left by long dead hands and looking to the eternal sea.

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The silence broken only by the conversation between the ravens and waves.

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While we witnessed time devouring history.

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and descend;

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into a passage that took us back,

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to the light at the end of the tunnel,

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we turn again so that we can ascend into the day.

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What a strange reminder of how we have come to be as we are.

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It seemed an apt way to spend such a gray day.

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