island hopping: powderhorn

as big as the promise of a coming day

Past Boston and Green and Spectacle Islands, beyond the Isle of Springs, my kayak rides the raucous swells. The morning, a glittering gemstone.

Powderhorn. No one here. Pawprints disappearing in the sand. How the air smells in September: cold, wet, pure.

Battered picnic table bleached white by salt and sun. Charred wood from a campfire long-ago. On the leeward side, the open sea. Horizon, the blue of a washed-out watercolor.

The wind picks up on the paddle home. Rogue waves and bell buoy chimes. Surrounded by sea dogs and an ocean of possibilities.

Never has my world felt this vast.

for more island microstories, check out the mashup’s island-hopping series: grand manan, capitol, southport and monhegan.