her fragile boat moored in the remoteness of Maine
bumping against some old tires
coastal rocks brown, gray and jagged
cold icy winters but glorious short summers
ruggedness of a nearby forest pines extraordinaire
red and white lighthouse stands tall and majestic (needs a coat of white paint)
shining beacon piercing the black as coal night
protecting captains and crews from harm
old cottage seaside overlooking blue-green bay
captain’s bell by weatherbeaten front door
prominent widow’s walk
fishing boats with old wood decks away from their slips
sailing in hopes of making a profitable catch on their dangerous trips
telescope pointed out to sea from bay window
hardwood floors; rooms decorated in elegant nautical
model ships, sailing hats, wheels, compasses
treasure chests with personal treasures contained within
maps and charts, pieces of sails, paintings of sea going vessels
red lanterns, old naval uniforms
harken back to another time, another world
evening now; fog gathering obscuring all
distant ship horns can be heard amidst the mist
