The Unquiet Island

A small rockbound island lies a mile off the coast from our cottage. I view its compact muffin shape from my windows every day, although sometimes it is hidden by fog. When the mist materializes, the water of Casco Bay is a vast subtle palette ranging from silver to violet and the island I think of as Avalon looks like a mirage...a vision from an ancient tale.

It is a bustling destination throughout the summer. Lobstermen chug past, hauling and setting traps in their noisy diesel boats. Friends come and go, bringing picnics and children who swim from the rocky shore. Labrador retrievers leap from the dock to retrieve sticks and then shake themselves near companions who shriek from the shock of cold water spray. The paths smell richly of pine and the osprey dive and swoop about their nests keenly aware of the photographer's lens below them. All summer long the island is a place of joy and discovery.

Eventually everyone leaves, boats are pulled from their moorings and even the osprey have left for their long journey south. Late in the season the island is still, sun filters through pine, but evidence abounds that it is not quiet...

The remains of a seagull's feast are scattered over ledge. We never see the seagulls dropping the clams and crabs from a great height in their effort to crack the shells open for the tasty morsels inside.

A spider quietly spins a web, its perfection caught in sunlight.

Along the path to the southern rock beach we find many clumps of pristine white feathers. They lie nestled on dry leaves and pine needles. No breeze penetrates the trees to rustle the feathers. It is so still, yet they are testimony to a terrible aerial battle.

...and constantly the waves shift eel grass and seaweed against the rocks, salt spray twinkling in sunlight.