He had made it to one of the great get-away places in the world. Maine, and the wind was fresh. Running away from an early love, he wasn’t sure how he ended up here. The friends he was stopping to see were former colleagues, and had offered an invitation. He was pretty sure they hadn’t expected to have it accepted. No matter. They were gracious and here he was.

He realized on this dazzling day filled with sail boats viewed from the shore, that he couldn’t run away. He had run to a place which filled his senses with salt air, brown bread and beans, stories being told, black flies and spinnakers. In this case, he was watching a sloop race out on the water, but he had no dog in the hunt. He had to admit that he couldn’t really be sad, with all the stirring signs of fresh…