Feast of the East.

I 'sea' food, in Portland, Maine.

Portland, ME – My lids had lifted even before the ball of fire that would eventually prick at my bleary eyes as we drove east this morning.

It was 4:23 a.m. and sleep had already sped off down the highway.

Having left Toronto, the sun rose like a fist of fire, throwing darts of dark rays that jutted at right angles. Soon, the city crumbled into the Canadian Shield and the road before us unfurled with the rhythm of a sonnet. Or, perhaps, an epic poem.

We finally stopped in the quaint and quiet town of Brockville, ON, but were surprised to not find anywhere serving a decent breakfast. A&W was not what I had in mind. Thanks for nothing, Brockville.

The St. Lawrence hemmed in our tracks as we took secondary roads through New York and, as we circled Lake Champlain, watercolour marinas and crimping shear backdrops filled our windscreen. It was a beautiful drive, if not for the incessant need to slow for red lights and tractors.

We eventually made it through the Green, White and Appalachian Mountains – through Vermont and New Hampshire – before ending for the night in the coastal city of Portland, Maine. The ferry that used to run from here to Nova Scotia has been shuttered for a few years now. So, more driving tomorrow.

Exhaustion poured itself over my first lobster roll of the trip; however, the table-full of seafood at J’s Oyster on the wharf was really all I was looking for after a day of following my nose in the general direction of sea air.