Calm

My Maineiac mind has been a bit roiled, of late. The political landscape is unsettling, our state's Governor just will not act civilly, and work has been busy this summer. The latter is unusual, as I tend to see fewer clients this season. Anyhow, we realized that a good chunk of the summer has gone by, and we have not made it to our favorite kayaking spot off of Deer Isle/Stonington. The weekend was going to be cloudy, but we decided to make a go for it. I was worried that my pics wouldn't come out well with these skies. Boy, was I wrong. Between the carpet of clouds and my new wide-angle lens, the sky in these pictures is stunning. Don't you agree?

The sea was so calm. We were able to cover much more ground and circle islands that usually have spots that can be a bit treacherous with some wind and waves. With every soft paddle-stroke, my body relaxed. The briny air and the smell of the rosa rugosa growing on the edges between spruce and pine trees and the granite rocks was intoxicating. I kept inhaling deeply, trying to lock in the memory of it. 

This place is my healer. Hopefully, you can get a little feeling of it from these photos. 

Now, on to the second half of summer.

Summer Nights and Screened Porches

It is the start of summer--officially. One of the places that brings me contentment, especially at the end of a work day is my tiny, screened, front-porch. It's hidden from most eyes by the lilac, hydrangea, and blackberry bushes. The evening air is cool, but not cold. The evening sounds surround me, muffled and soft. Birds, occasional cars, the faint voices of neighbors, the distant barking of a dog. If I listen really hard, I think I can hear the peepers down by the river. 

The drink in my hand is an unsweetened ice tea, clear and cold, with a slice of lemon for brightness. I do some focused listening. For a minute, I'll focus on any bird sounds--or one bird to another. Then, I'll focus on human sounds, then back to birds. After five minutes of this, I am at ease. The guitar comes out of the case. It's timbre, mellow, in the best way. I'll sing, because no one can hear me. Joy tip-toes back into my soul.

Summers are short here, which makes this time on this small, screened porch all the more sacred.