Two whirlwind summers in a row--2022 and 2023--and I'm ready for a little down time. The film is still in a holding pattern as we apply to film festivals. We do have other news that I can't release publicly yet, but we are making progress. So I got in the car and took a drive, not knowing where I'd end up.
I ended up down in Bristol, first at Shaw's Wharf, which is closed for the season.
How to describe the smell of a fish wharf in Maine:
It's like your cat's breath, off and disturbing, but you crave it. It's the decaying smell of shellfish with an underbloom of salt and a hearty blast of fresh sea air. Like something dying, but you want to drink up its gasping last breath. This is a scent familiar to people who've lived with trauma; it's off putting to those who haven't.
I kept going until I got to Pemaquid Point, which was delightfully uncrowded on a Thursday afternoon.
The lighthouse of course is what people come to see, but I like all of the furrowed ledges of metamorphic gray rocks running down to the sea.
Sometimes when you don't feel like doing anything, the best thing to do is to get in the car and drag yourself to some place beautiful.
And take a rest.
Photos ©Kay Stephens
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