Embracing Death
Snow, white and faded, was not as melancholic as the cold. At -6 degrees Fahrenheit, even Wharf street was put to silence, just past sunset, by twenty two inches of snow the blizzard had dispersed all over Portland. The promising sun I witnessed earlier this day; shining radiantly over the Siberian Elms of Eastern Promenade, was taken over pugnaciously by Nimbostratus clouds. This snow storm had forced me to seek refuge at Sweetgrass winery. Three divine shots of "Mark of the Maple" later, I felt warm enough to face the wind chill. Tantalizing aroma of parmesan, rosemary and basil led me to its origin at Central Provisions. After digging into an entree of "Seared Casco-Bay Scallops", I reluctantly dragged myself to the exit. Repulsed by the sombre chill of Wharf Street I made my exit through the other door. Fore street; basking earlier under blue and red twinkle lights, was tumult now: the traffic lights swung about and ghastly wind added to the gloom. As I