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If you stood staring directly into my lens here on this 19th century carriage porch - you'd see the Lancaster City eastern boundary maybe a hundred yards behind me. And you'd feel the same early summer sun warm you from head to toe.
I like these ports that were built to cover grand carriages from the elements. I can imagine the noise of the tack, the hooves on those bricks, the chatter of ladies in fluffy dresses, cigar smoking men in tall hats, boys in short pants all circled by dogs happily welcoming them. What I can't imagine is the heat of summer burning down on those corseted ladies, and their men in woolens. Nor can I imagine the smell of those sweat soaked horses.
In the now breeze whispering stillness of a mid-day in May, I wonder how long this portico's awaited the next carriage to come home?