After my sojourn in Kennebunkport, culminating with the consumption of a large breakfast at a restaurant called BREAKFAST ALL DAY, which has been in the same place for thirty years and where the waitresses are an art-form-in-motion tending to the many customers who stand in line beginning at 7 a.m., I drove the long, scenic coastal route most of the way north to the small, sweet cottage where I reside all this week, only minutes away from Acadia National Park.
I sit at a colonial-style table next to a bay window overlooking tall, thin pines. Through them, an expanse of deep blue water glistens. Since my writing schedule insists on my being awake at 5 a.m., fortified with a mug of freshly brewed Assam tea in hand and my camera slung over my shoulder, I walked the mere fifty paces to the ocean and watched Acadia awake to the rising sun.
Now for more tea, then a long walk. Today is a day of recovery of the body. My soul is already soothed and at peace.