It's a bright morning and the distant islands seem to float in a
thin sea of haze or fog. A blue heron rises from our beach and
flies over to the nearby ledges, its big wings flapping almost lazily.
A buck deer browses through the yard but isn't quite brave enough
to walk up on the porch where the marigold planters have been placed
for their security.
Summer is in full swing at the Island. Every day now there are
people walking in the road of the village and the mailboat brings
more with each trip. I think a dozen hikers met the ranger yesterday
noon. Others fly in and the seaplane from Bangor lands daily.
St. John's Wort is in full bloom with patches of yellow everywhere.
It's said to be good for depression but, if so, it's in the wrong
place at the wrong time. Now should one have to leave, that's different.
In that case, depression is a possibility and one could take a quantity
with them as they go to ease the departure. The rest of us will just
stand on the dock and wave, happy to be here.