New England

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when the atmosphere changes to glass   and the air becomes so crisp and clean;   when flakes tumbling, twirling pour out of a steel gray sky;  
Maine is ME I'm diverse. A bit of a rocky coastline.  Blistering cold yet Delighfully warm. Spontaneus and changing Like New England weather Unpredictable. Different from the others.
I am from Grandma’s eyes And red Russian blood I am from the house with the white Pickett fence the gate that never quite shut But always felt right I am from the rusty swing set far back in the woods
Sea fog lifting, billowing, moist morning mist. Slug trail shimmering, faded asphalt.   Quiet, calming, claustrophobic cellar smell. City alleyway, sunrise street scent.  
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