SEPTEMBER  And now the slow slide into autumn: the thinning crickets, the monarchs moving weightless among us like orange angels, the tight-lipped rose hips; the brown curl of aspen leaf, the bikes tossed willy-nilly on the schoolhouse lawn. Even the shadows slide, like blue  cloaks about the apple trees. Now  the mornings deepen; the meadow […]

SEA CHANGE  the summer house is life on a different plane old rules do not apply long days of idleness are not suspect an hour’s walk along the sand or the digging of clams for half a day are looked upon as industry to be applauded or disdained according to one’s view of life as […]

                                           “Monhegan Winds”                       For Jim Guinness   Jim’s music carries on its crest the day I first heard it blowing west through the Barnacle’s door. Listening […]

 CAPSTAN CHANTEY                         (after hours)                               memories gather thick and random no more welcome than gnats whirring over the moss on the fragrant hummock the old pine left in dying  i […]

DINNER AT SIX, MONHEGAN HOUSE  It became a memorable first gathering. Monhegan the meeting place, the group of four, old friends and new, together. A toast to making acquaintances and the good fortune of being on island. The time honored ritual of breaking bread, as conversation and wine flow through the evening.  With fond memories, […]

The Ripening  Oh, where’s the pail? No, the berry pail… Ah, there it is – Grab it and run  The sun is high It is warm It is the end of July  I am dreaming of pie!  Toasty warm, fragrant delicious blueberry pie  from my tasty warm fragrant delicious blueberry patch kind of day today […]

              A Walk on Monhegan: an Excerpt  The path opens to tote road leaving wood-dusk with the sweet  odors of fir balsam and skunk cabbage.  A wood-cock churrs. The village is washed and fragrant (fresh home-made bread and butter in the garden) The morning-glories and the lady of the morning […]

 The View from Above: Monhegan House, 7 A.M.   Into the small frame, modest landscape of yellow garden hose, overturned red barrow, the settled gray of shingled houses, early lettuce bedded out, lilacs at crescendo,   here she comes, trotting at a pony’s pace, a young girl in a striped knit cap, pom-pom bobbing on a […]

THE FIRST LONG NAP I’VE  HAD IN YEARS  On the third floor of the Island Inn, a room no larger than a minute, the small bed filling the room, I lay down. White walls, the white of steamed milk, whiter trim on the window, its white shade half-closed, half-closed white curtain rippling. Me on the […]

IN THIS ROOM     Waking to the peace of an untethered                white light in the tiny room                      I’ll call my own for this                              […]

MONHEGAN SUMMER DAY Reflections from the Pierce House Porch Primroses Chrysanthemums, Phlox Artemisia Marsh grass yellow, brown, green Swallows’ orange breasts, slate gray backs Seascapes Crashing surf Lobster traps Stacked five high Laundry on lines Graveyard stones Face the village and harbor From 18th century Brackett Pierce Trefethren Fir trees Starling Orne Wait staff time […]

A SUMMER AFTERNOON  IN THE BLACK DUCK  (In Memory of Mandy)  The cat wants in and The dog wants out A summer resident from Boston pops in to catch up  The cat slips in but The dog curls up A day tripper from Kittery wants a cappuccino, sweet  The dog finds her frisbee The cat […]

MONHEGAN TRAILS  Each year, the General Store sells a map marked in black dashes or solid, distinguishing ‘good’ from ‘fair’ to ‘poor’ trail, ‘moderate’ from ‘difficult’ path. I travel all the same, not judging flat, or steep and rocky, seeking the best place to view the horizon, never knowing what’s beyond the edge where the […]

LATE SPRING, MONHEGAN  Urgent old ferry girl. determined through the rollers hurled at her from Nova Scotia. Never ending engine drumbeats on, surging through suffocating fog. Holding the gunnels to feel your pulse– deliver me up to Monhegan.  First step on is surrender. Second step on is the end of measured time.  The innocence of […]

From Staithes, in Yorkshire so we have found a substitute, not quite perfection, just serene approximate not quite an island—not an isle at all unless one thinks of isolation as the definition. Hard to get there—isn’t that enough?—dense with evacuees from cities. Cliffs, and rock-pools, August light relentless, probing, honest, intimate the gulls scream day […]