Little Village

I sometimes like to paint at the Butler Cemetery in Thomaston, ME. It has beautiful old trees as well as a lot of late Butlers (oddly enough). On the far horizon is a collection of buildings that looks for all the world like a little village, set against the blue of the Camden Hills. The rail line to Rockland runs in front of it in a diagonal sweep, and the settlement is embraced by the ever-present evergreens of Maine. It’s far enough away that it is just an abstract suggestion of a village, which gives it an aura of mystery.

I know what that village really is, and I’m not telling.