Dip your hand in the cool seawater and hear the gulls rhythmic cries.
If you're me, you'll flap your towel to scare the buggers away from your snack.
Days here are unplanned. Boats slide across our vista silently.
We find blueberry bushes along the trails, and beaver lodges.
The late sun bleaches the grass tips
and leaks into the wooded paths.
There are shops to scan, deserted cottages to spy out.
Mostly, the water whirs and whistles against the rocks where we sit on towels in the sun reading, writing, resting.
Lobster boats clank through the peace, seagulls crowding around the hull for slip-ups.
Tides refresh the scene, and take turns battering and then sidling up to the rocks.
At night, we sip bisque and chowder, and walk home under the pink clouds.
Maine will always be one of my favorites, a place of constant renewal and peace.
We are smelling last night's rain this morning and looking forward to more fresh air today.