
You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall


The weekend after Labor Day is observed around here as the Pirate Festival. It’s even a prelude to Halloween.
I’m turned about so much
we don’t connect to the guidebook
in my hand
across from Brooklin
on Blue Hill peninsula
wooden boat school renown
and the magazine

I’m so turned around
the overnight air was humid
we thought the early morning sun
was the moon
we could look at straight
like the nearly full moon

With the ocean in view, this lawn appears impeccable.
The dream itself isn’t so uncommon, or so I’m told.
In my case, it involves trying to go somewhere or finish a project, as in meeting a deadline, except that interruptions and complications keep popping up.
Quite simply, like Zeno’s Paradox in philosophy, the finish line becomes more and more elusive and then impossible to cross. You can never get all the way there.
So that’s how I sometimes feel looking all that remains to be done on this old-house project, even before I confess to myself that I don’t even know about many of the other items on the list.
List? Where is it? Which one?

As you see, our waters aren’t always deep blue.

Some folks use the striking weed in cooking.

This cluster of small islands in Fundy Bay at the tip of Campobello includes a light house that’s become invisible in this photo.


Maine Coastal Heritage Trust

This pristine 1820’s home on Green Street overlooks Castine Bay.