Saturday, 13 September 2008

A beach in Maine – by Lorri Centineo

photo: Popham beach and Seguin island by Brad Blake Today we embraced a remarkable gift of sun mixed with summer's last breaths.
Mere smatterings of white fluff drifted by, not unlike chores drifting out of my mind.
And so, the emptying left space for visions of the beach.

I picked my son up from school at two o'clock and headed for the beach cottage where my best friend is staying this week.
Most of the local mosquitoes had exactly the same idea.

We ran my friend's dogs down the beach a half mile and back, then walked to the fort where two unlucky fish were finding new homes in seal bellies.
My pockets full of small bits of driftwood, some red seaweed curls, a very lost bit of still-soft coral, and one homeless urchin no larger than my thumbnail.

At dusk we watched sailboats breeze by the glowing island lighthouse. the moon rose and wrapped the surf in silver lace and limned the wisps of sky-whites with gold.

No comments: