The Cellar

January 8, 2011 | Leave a Comment

It was Maine before the land was hunted mercilessly by the absurdly wealthy for oceanfront mansions. Right above the beach. An old cellar, facing the frothy water. Bits and pieces of someone’s lives lay strewn here and there, wedged between the remaining fieldstone foundation boulders–perhaps there since the fire took the house in the night.

I was a kid, and I was on vacation with my family for the week. When I discovered the old cellar, I was instantly attracted. It must have been the echos of the voices who had lived there. I touched some of the remains. Peered out toward the ocean from the pit. Wondered what it must have been like to live there. And felt a strange sensation of–what was it–deja vu?

Waves crashed before the wind. Seagulls tossed above, crying.

Could it be?




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