Isles of Shoals

I'm going to call this my "island tour" summer, as I seem to be working my way around all the islands I can get to. In a few weeks I'll be heading out for a week of paddling on the Maine Island Trail, and can't wait for more time to inhale the sea air and draw inspiration from the rocks and birds and waves. The other day I went out to the Isles of Shoals on the border between NH and Maine, and had a great few hours of being stranded on the island and left to wander around the remnants of the old village.

Here is a portion of a poem by Celia Thaxter, who lived and wrote on the islands in the mid-late 1800s...

THE SANDPIPER

Across the narrow beach we flit,

One little sandpiper and I,

And fast I gather, bit by bit,

The scattered driftwood bleached and dry.

The wild waves reach their hands for it,

The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,

As up and down the beach we flit,

-One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds

Scud black and swift across the sky;

Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds

Stand out the white lighthouses high.

Almost as far as eye can reach

I see the close-reefed vessels fly,

As fast we flit along the beach,

-One little sandpiper and I.