Winter is in charge of Maine, the clocks have gone back, the nights are drawing in and the wind has picked up, relentlessly blowing no warmth. There is a storm howling through the cracks in the windows, I am tucked up in a large four poster bed and can see a roaring fire as I peep over the bed covers. As I do the crash of the waves attacking the granite cliffs below seem closer. Despite lightening and cracks of thunder which sound like a giant whip hitting the cliffs it is possible to catch glimpses of the stars and moon and is quite surreal.
The windows are tall and cathedral like and the curtains have remained open for I am a spectator tonight. I wrap the bed covers around me. The candles flicker on the ceiling every so often seeming to be extinguished to light up again seconds later, but actually its a game played on me by the lightening. When I close my eyes and the sounds become louder feel I am floating and just totally engulfed .
The castle is called Nurembega. Early explorers of this part of the world developed a semi-mythological story that there was a city called Nurembega. There lived Indians who spoke Latin, wore fur, worshipped the sun and were altogether a highly advanced civilisation on the banks of a river. Alas this place was never found, and the legend may have been created to fill the the geographical gap as much of the New England was unknown. But who knows. The castle over looks the ocean and its dark foreboding pine islands.We visited one island called Isleboro and its tenembrious harbor. Which you may have read about in Sidney Sheldon's book, Master of the game. The estate agent who showed us around was interviewed by Sheldon for the book. It is quite a place, mysterious despite a bright and crisp morning. I got this crazy feeling when I was there, the island seemed magical.
I am going to take you to this here castle. This place was made for you.
Extracts from postcards, Author: G.
Imagine you and I are having coffee together in the sun. We would tell one another other stories. Have giggles. Most stories here are observations and accounts of certian bemusing events in the days of an artist. Events I wish to remember and think may amuse you too. The illustrations I drew. The protagonists are real. Should you have a coffee time story to share, write it back to me.Now if you are ready for a break, get a coffee, draw a chair, let me tell you what happened the other day :
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