It was August, but it was also Maine. The air was cool and wet and smelled of the sea. We had left the New Hampshire Farmhaus, crossed the border into Kittery Point, and kept heading east until we hit the Seapoint beach.

Seapoint is one of those public beaches that are so beautiful, the local residents try to claim it as their own. You have to have a parking sticker proving that you live in Kittery Point, or you could get a ticket for leaving your car around. But the fog was thick and the sun was dropping, so we took our chances.

The waves were low and flat and gray, and so was the sky. They met and melded just a few meters from the sand: the waves appeared to be descended from the clouds, and it seemed you could walk right out on their foamy tips and end up in the ether.

I didn’t try. Instead, I clambered over slippery rocks, inspected seaweed and shells and discarded crab traps, took a few photos, waxed philosophical while gazing at the grey sea… and that was Maine, my only time in Maine.

© jessicareeder for Uprooted, an eco/travel blog, 2010. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us
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