Pris Campbell

We have to leave Maine soon for our long sail back to Boston, past the off-shore Isle of Shoals, fishing boats racing out at sunrise from Gloucester Bay, gleaming hulls at the rich boaters' haven in Marblehead. Home to our quiet Hull mooring.

Today, late, we cook lobster bought from a lobsterman hastening under a bridge too low for us for better sanctuary. Tall pines and oaks block much of the harbor from the sea but the jetty and land around it are wide open to rising wind. The clouds begin to streak red at sunset. Still novices, we're too stubborn to row to the marina onshore, too naive to worry.

three anchors set –
we ride a hurricane's edge
with the hidden birds