I’m having my last morning coffee for the season on my little deck overlooking my beloved bay.  I continue packing today and Sigrid will be here tomorrow to help me move back to the winter cave.  I have been up there a couple of times since Labor Day and I miss my bay vistas up there.


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The early sun is September-warm.  The air is still, so much so that reflections of the fragmites plumes are clear in the water.  I hear a cricket and a few bird calls, now a flight of honking geese.  The marshes are cinnamon with still some thin washes of pale green, resting comfortably, their essence moving into their roots to survive the winter.  A lone fisherman drifts slowly with the tide; another passes, speeding south, the boat’s reflection in the still water traveling with it.  They are too far away to hear; a blessing this morning.

Few are stirring here.  One goes out and returns with a paper.  Please, just look around right now, not at the paper.


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Life, of course, continues down here but at a greatly reduced level.  Next weekend is the annual Chowda Fest after which it’ll get really quiet.  Then the speed limits will rise and the traffic lights will go on blink.  For those who stay, their essence is also moving into their roots to survive the winter.  The Bagel Shack remains open to help with that.

Yes, there are no such vistas back home but life continues with friends, gatherings, events, meetings, projects, a fall getaway and probably a winter getaway.  December brings the winter solstice.  Since that marks the beginning of the sun’s return I’ve always thought of it as the first day of boating season.  That’s a nice thought.


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