"New England is quite as large a lump of earth as my heart can really take in."
I could write a poem, but I might struggle with finding a word to rhyme with bunghole, as in Bunghole Liquors in Salem, Massachusetts:Zoom it, Vortexers. It's there. And here. Nothing captures Autumn in New England like koozies that read "Planet Bung Next to Uranus", right?
But mostly, I could just give it the Vortex 10 treatment. This is no moth-ball smelling, photo album-snoozing regurgitation down recent-memory lane. This is Romancing New England, Vortex-style.
Each day for ten days I'll dish out a tiny, meaty portion of my quest to capture that elusive, famed, romantic state-of-mind that eclipses New England this time of year. Did I find it in the portrait of Barbara Bush on river rock? Or in the Mary Poppins-holding-umbrella flight through a downtown Boston alley? Or in the quiet moment of fail when I realized my continental breakfast had to be eaten outside in 40 degree post-dawn Maine? The Vortex 10 list will swell as steady as my stomach on chowdah and lobstah, so pull up a feed and check back often. Maybe you'll find New England, like I did, somewhere between a Hawthorne and a bunghole.
Seriously, what rhymes with hole? Filet of Sole? Hairy mole? Yeasty roll?
Tomorrow: Romancing Public Transportation, or There is No T in Romance