It was this past 4th of July weekend I walked through the door of the present and set out upon the open roads. My mind begins to forget, and the constriction of life’s encumbrances slowly releases it’s garrote with each passing mile. I gaze through my rear looking glass and watch as the convoluted duress of this existence slowly fades and finally disappears beyond a sea of spruce and the meander of green knoll. The road which connected me to it, has been pinched off. It’s distant road narrows to my rear in obscurity and lastly perishes before tumbling over the horizon.

That which disappeared beyond will soon be replaced and appear with a new face on a new horizon. The road’s knell guides me as it’s elysian twists and turns placate and comfort me. It is left I turn on route 29. 6 miles down and to the right, my journey has ended. It is here I will stay for the night. It is here I will heal and allow my wounds to mend. The inn is magnificent, she does not vacillate in her stance, but rather she is positioned firmly and firm footed and stands with an erect indomitableness as if a sentry guarding it’s post. She is the Mansion Inn.

I pause as I approach her. I look up at her 3 storied Victorian splendor and peer upon her gabled crown and her dormered brow. In entering, there is a healing warmth which embraces me. The vestibule which I stand in is the hand she extends to welcome me. Gas and tiffany chandeliers drape from the nape of her molded ceilings like fine jewelry. Each room breathes a calming life and a presence all it’s own. Within this magnificent inn are 6 high mantled fireplaces of which 3 are marble. She is adorned with the finest antique furnishings and atop her 3rd story rests the 10th of her resting chambers, and a brandishing panoramic view of her bucolic grounds. She is refined in every way, shod with hardwood and parquet flooring throughout.

I recline in a wing back chair in her parlor. I gaze in silence and step back in time reflecting. I remember nothing of that which I left, but repose in solace. I look out the eye of her bay window beyond the grand piano perched in front and watch the willows sway in the summer breeze. It is twilight and I watch the shadows they cast dance. I walk across the main entrance, past the staircase to the left and into the formal dining area where the exit lay to the grounds of the Mansion Inn. It is here where I spent the night sitting and reflecting and soothing my soul from the balm of the inn’s tranquility.