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Retired publishing executive ecstatic with the idea of spending most of his time on the coast of Maine

Tuesday, June 7, 2011


It's the time of year when passions run high, the rhododendron (purple tending to red) just starting to burst, the lupine (tending to blue) halfway exploded, the lilacs (just plain perfect purple) in full bloom and glorious scent. The morning was so brilliant I wanted to put on a purple robe and swagger about. June was made for all kinds of life-changing events, like graduations and weddings and sitting outside without a sweatshirt.

Although this being New England, with its vestiges of royal British turpitude, things change. The wind switches to the southeast off the water, high clouds at noon drop the temperatures a bit more, and optimistic shorts become practical jeans. High-born thoughts turn to lunch. The lawn suddenly needs mowing. The poppies put off their opening for another day.

But the whole hot and passionate summer lies ahead, when nobody in Maine needs a purple robe to feel like a king.

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