06/01/2026
These evenings, silent and still, when yesterday’s chill still prompts the tug of a comforter around you as you sleep. The doctor comes at night, bringing healing in the haunting echo of the loons in the flickering reflection of the moon. Nights are noticed here—the scent of a fire pit four houses down, the soft, soothing sound of laughter as friends linger on the deck down the lane and the distant glow of warm light in wood paned windows in the cottage just awakening after a long, dark winter. Nights are felt here, as we look and listen and breathe deeply the magic of the northern night. It’s the beauty we find in the normal, the nothing at all that lives in the darkness of Lewiston, Pure Lewiston.
(Photo by Erma Rhadigan.)