My map crinkles over my lap, its folds snarling against one another as I smooth it with a gentle palm. As I trace a line north along a coastline I feel excited. Anticipation is one of the signal pleasures of visiting Maine.  It's tucked so deeply into the farthest reaches of the American Northeast that getting there can feel like an old fashioned journey, even in this age of planes, trains and automobiles.  This feeling is only amplified when the final destination is one of Maine's most northern points, a sleepy town that hugs the winding bend of Canada's boarder.  That impatient rush is immediately dispelled upon a solid breath of fresh Maine air, so raw it burns your throat.  An irresistible temptation to relax begins to creep in.  The cool and invigorating shadow under a tree, or the caressing sphere of warmth in a spot of sun are spaces of ultimate intimacy and comfort that beckon.  These are the spaces that conjure that feeling anticipation and make it worth the journey.  

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