I have been growing fond of Maine. Which has been hard as the days grow shorter and colder. And I grow older and anxious. I respect that gull though. Flying over the parking lot of a store. A store named for the shear capacity of it's own parking lot? I respect that gull. He's looking down at me, laughing.
The herd in flight. (These gulls are way bigger than you think.)
It looks cold across the Water Street roof tops. I am thankful I walked down to Water Street last night. It was empty, nearly. But it reminded me more of a boring European town. It was nice.
A chimney of an old paper mill looms looooms over a downtown area of Augusta Maine. Evidence of a former industrious economy. Evidence of environmental damage. Evidence, like a giant push pin marking the spot on the map of an environmental investigation. (If the company didn't take the structures away what are the chances they've cleaned anything else?)
The Fairmont(?) Fire House sits at the southern end of downtown Augusta Maine's Water Street.
