THE RAMBLING ROSE

A near yet distant voyage through Maine.

The humidity and saturation of the winds are what stroke us first, not violent but remindful of its might. The sun came and went as it pleased, and with it, the mood changed ever so often. We sailed to no destination, driven purely by the now. In those long quiet hours, we laughed and conversed, sometimes out loud, sometimes with ourselves.

The wet of the water, the hot of the fire and the rumbling of the rose was all there, was all that was needed.