22I easily found the street number. The two digits were formed from swirling black iron.
The iron numbers were nailed to beautiful bricks. They’d seasoned to a refined brownish-red color.
The bricks formed the walls of an older two-story building laid out in the shape of a capital U, though squared off at the bottom instead of rounded.
The elegant building sat on the banks of the Piscataqua River.
The State of Maine is on the far side. The Atlantic Ocean is downstream.
A curving red-brick walkway beckoned us into the space between the two long arms of the U.
Constructed later than the building, the bright, young bricks beneath my sandals ranged in color from orange to charcoal.
Flashy red geraniums flourished in dark soil on each side of the walkway.
I faced a glass entry door.
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