The first day in Maine late summer-like a thin haze on the horizon cool air, but no long sleeves required
On the ferry i heard someone say "Indian Summer" but it isn't, strictly speaking those are the exquisitely perfect balmy days following the first frost. Summer simply refuses to let go even here, so far north.
Evergreens everywhere running right up to the sea. With all the car windows open the scent of balsam washes over us
Day Two At the edge of the small island we scramble over rocks
Some are still sharp lichens beginning to digest only the very edges
a careful step further onto those the waves are washing smooth
We roll up shirt sleeves and pant legs.
"Did you get in the water?" "Yes. Clear up to my ankles."
It's always cold but wading in the summer cold sea feels good under the hot sun.
Sea maidens however, are frolicking about but all we see of them is their golden tresses