Direction

The first breath of autumn
blows through the trees
And the nights are getting long
and growing colder
And the maples are turning
and the fields have gone brown
And the waves against the shore
make such a sad sound
-Dan Fogelberg

There are really few words that adequately express my feelings about the state of Maine. It truly has become the place where my inner compass gets reset. After our very first visit back in 1996, I wrote in my Maine journal:

I'd always wanted to go there, mainly out of curiosity. I had no idea what to expect. I had no idea that the very foundation of my soul would be shaken by that place. It's been a year since that first visit, but not a day has passed since that I haven't thought of it. How much I want to go back there, how much I want to live there, how much I don't ever want to leave there.

This trip did nothing to change that. I have never felt more at home than I did out on that wooden sailing yacht. The water, the popping of the sails in the wind, the seabreeze blowing in your face, all conspire to bring focus and direction. Everything I do now is centered on our permanent relocation to Maine. The path is neither short nor straight, but the destination is set.