Maine infected me at the age of 12, in Brunswick, on a family trip from Minnesota. The bug was more or less dormant until I moved to Boston in the late 70s, spread a little in flirtations with the mountains and lakes of New Hampshire and Vermont, and now, with the bemused tolerance of my wife Cynthia Dockrell, has set in without cure.
About Me
- Jim Krosschell
- Retired publishing executive ecstatic with the idea of spending most of his time on the coast of Maine
Monday, August 10, 2015
Watching the pre-dawn sky
At 4:30 there's the faintest of pink glows over the islands to the east. The moon is well risen, in its waning crescent phase, and the sky is longer black, but the deepest and darkest blue. Gradually, the east grows brighter, and the stars fade, and the color of the sky lightens, and just before the sun breaks over the crust of the earth at 5:30, the sky is slightly blue, slightly gray. Then the sun, red and yellow, burns through the firs on Sheep Island, and the sky once again becomes the color of the sea, the one cloudless and warm, the other wrinkled and cool, perfect complements to an August morning in Maine.
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