Coastal Maine
A seafaring land, a place where boats are just as important as cars, where the weather and the land meet at sea's edge, merge, and find ways to hide. In early spring, still clouded, cold, misted, and rainy. A last land before the long water. Smell of sea salt, kelp iodine, also smell of clean rain of wet granite, wet brightly painted wood.
Labels: photography, prose-poem
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