Last night, walking out to the car after dinner at the Backeddy Pub, after chowder and a little jam-jar of white chocolate cheesecake dripping with caramel, after two glasses of Grey Monk Pinot Gris, I looked back, past the plainbuilt pub on its stilty legs, deck over the high tide line, past the boats in the quiet water, past the cormorant perched on a piling beyond the dock, to see snow dusting the low mountains on the other side of the inlet, high peaks beyond, and thought of the earth waking after winter to the cold surprise of new snow, bears pausing by their warm dens, wondering, wondering, elk stopped in their tracks by a sound deep in the woods, and the prospect of a few lights blooming in the windows along Maple Road as we drove home.
...Theresa Kishkan 