Looking out my cabin window this morning I'm noticing the bare trees and how fast the seasons pass. As we enter one we get excited about what it might bring, but in three quick months it disappears. Then it's on to the next, and again we change our perspective.
Last year, during the autumn months, I took my annual trip to Maine. Southwest Harbor was bustling with life and, on occasion, you could catch a glimpse of the locals readying themselves for the coming winter. Rows of wood piles separated homes from one another, and it was easy to note which houses had wood stoves. Most did, by the way.
My days included walks on the rocky beaches nearby. I climbed in and around the kelp covered stones until I was too cold to keep going. Once, on the way back to my car, I spotted one lone feather sitting proudly for me to view. It was white and rested lightly atop the kelp, and it was gorgeous against its dark backdrop.
I looked for the feather's owner, but it could have come from any one of the eleven seagulls close to shore. Until, that is, one looked back and held my eyes for a moment too long...
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