island hopping: monhegan

reVision: sea things differently

An old boarding house and the glass doorknobs squeak. Doors left unlocked.

On an island, nothing is a secret but there are secrets.

An island is a confidante.

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Gray shingled houses match the morning and everything weatherbeaten, splintery. Everyone seemingly named Sarah.

Rocky beaches and muddy trails. Aster, bunchberries, sea lace. The rugged scent of fresh-pressed cider.

An island is blue sea glass.

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Lives are measured in ferry timetables. Thirty-five steps to the top of the lighthouse.

Sharp-edged fog, and softness found in the wisp of a curtain, ripples in tide pools, saltwater on my skin.

An island is eternal.

windows of the soul

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I wrote this microessay at a recent writing retreat on Monhegan, a Maine island 10 miles out to sea, hosted by

sarah e webb

. Sarah writes

narrative threads: from breath to pen

a weekly newsletter as meditative as the lyrical stories it weaves.

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