The air is cool. The cool cured by wool rag socks.
The tide is out. The keel of a neighbor’s boat is cradled by riverbed ooze.
The sun is high. A white cottage reflects like a cathedral in pools of water resting in recumbent pockets of mud.
The tide is in. Water laps against the rocks like a litter of kittens lapping from a common bowl.
The sun is warm. It erases the last droplets of dew from sturdy white chairs, caresses my face, and denies winter is around the next point.
The sun drops. It falls behind the trees like a hot ash. The neighbor’s boat settles its keel and I put on my rag socks.
Lee Heffner, writer, writer’s coach and instructor, moved to midcoast Maine nine years ago after a visit to Spruce Head. It was love at first sight.