Portland (Maine) Wandering

My former city's Old Port Exchange, 

looking up Exchange Street from Fore. 

I love coming down here for coffee at 6 AM,

then wandering, 

before the crowds arrive, 

before the parking meters are operating...

Spring Blooms

In my previous post I might have been a little harsh, 
referring to spring blossoms as "Drama Queens". 

It was my pollen filled eyes that made me do it! 

Today, with an anti allergy medicine in my system, 

I can see more clearly! 

I offer this portrait as an apology to the blooms of Spring 

that I unjustly maligned!

Everyone Loves Spring. Except...

Quick-y-very-quick-sketch.

Young leaves are filling in fast. 

They are even more yellow-chartreuse-y 
than I painted them.

This phase of spring brings a myriad of colors.

But one has to stop & really look 
to catch what's happening. 

It's easy to only see the Drama-Queen Blossoms.

Everyone seems to love spring.

But I'm not a fan

except for the pleasant air & temperatures.  

The pollen burns my eyes.

The tree skeletons & unfettered views of the water

are disappearing quickly now.
But they will return.

9 Bikes, 9 Bike Memories

9 Bikes, 9 Bike Memories

1. That first magical moment, was I six years old? when the bike, the ground & little me, minus training wheels, were in perfect harmony as my father, who was running alongside, let go of the bike. I flew away & left him in the background, cheering. 

2. My father singing "And you'll look sweet, upon the seat, of a bicycle built for two" along with the radio.

3. Riding as late as possible into the evening, after the other kids were in for dinner. It was adventure & independence, the setting was all of 2 suburban blocks.

4. Riding bikes from 7 to 9 in the morning on the Atlantic City boardwalk with my mother, before the walkers, shoppers & beach-goers were out.

5. Riding in Acadia National Park, up challenging hills, up above the blue ocean, below mountains, through spruce woods, past lakes.

6. My longest trip which for me took a lot of strength & courage:  Portland to Kennebunkport, 35 miles, in the midst of peaceful farmland & rolling meadows. 

7. Falling on one of the childhood neighborhood evening rides, all alone, scraped knee, walking my bike back home in tears.

8. Falling twice as an adult, scraped knees & almost tears. 

9. At age 13, trying to draw my bicycle for my art class sketchbook with tears of frustration. Learning about the pleasure that comes with persistence.

I would love to hear your bicycle stories!