the coast of maine

In the journal, I wrote about driving through Maine while in college. It was early spring and a group of us drove through the state on our way to Quebec City. My mind-images of Maine are of tall snow-covered pine trees, of empty highways and snow-piles gripping the boulders in the side of the road. My emotional memories are of fear that the car would break down in this wilderness. So, when Mac suggested a fall trip to Maine, I assumed I was going to see the same landscape with some fall colors interrupting the desolation.

We traveled the back-roads. South eastern Maine was full of ocean vistas and pretty little towns with tall white steeples. In Ogunquit, I got my first glimpse of the coastline. A coast of stone fingers reaching out into the blue Atlantic.

The long, sandy beaches of Kennebunkport were a surprise. In the morning light, with the tide out, the sands were empty, wide and wet. The stretch closest to the road was full of footprints and beach grasses. The few humans - walking, sitting, the two of us talking, me taking pictures - were insignificant in this grey, blue vastness.
(The thumbnail points to the large image.)