A view from Wiscasset - which calls itself "the prettiest village in Maine" - and the Sheepscot River. I stood in this spot at two years of age, dwarfed by two rotting schooners, the Hesper and the Luther Little. The schooners were removed in 1998 and all that remains today are rotting remnants of the dock that once led to the ships. I took my dad out to a thank-you-for-doing-my-taxes-cause-I-am-purely-an-English-Literature-soul lunch on Saturday and we stopped in Wiscasset so that I could patronize my favorite stationary shop, rock paper scissors (they sell the best notebooks - better than Moleskine - and eclectic laptop sleeves)!
An Easter supper table, decorated by the Bowen women. We know how to pull a fine table together. I love when we pull out our good china and silverware. Such refinement.
Raspberry sherbet and fruit salad, served in antique dishes, to cleanse the palate between courses.
My mother's Easter basket - fresh blooms to herald the spring season.
An Easter mantle filled with eggsflowerstwigsbunnies.
My whole body and spirit breathe such sighs of relief when I journey homeward. I unravel the tightly-wound cord of my person to become a free creature of time and the earth. Barefoot, I wandered around the green, mossy knoll in the backyard, inhaling the fresh, clean scent of spring. Hair tendrils askew, dirt-stained toes, I felt singular with this spring moment in Maine. God in heaven, I miss this place from whence I came. Someday, I must return. It is decreed in my soul that I will rest in the country once more. There are many days where I pray this return be soon. Please soon.