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Harbor Yachts

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Summertime morning haze across the harbor. The yachts are floating, not on the water, but on the haze, in the air, between the harbor islands, clustered together to harbor their own prosperity, their owners lazing in bed in their ritzy harborside hotels, eating fresh fruit for breakfast, one of whom is secretly keeping a boyfriend on the side and keeping that hidden from his husband although they have an open relationship, supposedly, but that's men, especially gay men, especially in the 21st century, and none of them are worth getting to know anymore, not at all, at least not for me.
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Mountaintop Vista

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From the summit of the mountain was seen a distant hamlet, at least it looked from that awesome height like a village no bigger than a hamlet ... but no, WAIT ... it was a town bigger than a hamlet once you were standing in it, gazing at the harbor, gazing further out at the ocean, gazing down the slantwise oceanside streets, through the shop windows, down the aisles of the Art Deco theatre from 1932, at the screen of the movie we were all standing in as actors walking down the streets of a town by a harbor along the northern coast of the great old state of Maine in New England, at the northeasternmost corner of the United States of America.
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