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I promise, a life update soon… so much has happened. Chris and I got married (yay!), had a beautiful honeymoon in Maine, and have been spending this week getting settled in and putting our new home together. But first, I thought it was worth sharing a little piece I wrote during our trip. This was after exploring the Ship Harbor Trail through the forest and to Maine’s rocky coastline, where we stopped to breathe and write a little. Acadia National Park is a magical place…


June 14, 2014

This is our fourth day in Maine, fifth as husband and wife. Our time on Mt. Desert Island has been truly special, the kind of soul rest I’ve needed since I don’t know when. Sometimes I look at pictures of our wedding day and it feels like a distant dream. I fall asleep beside my husband at night and wonder if the next morning I’ll wake up to reality, back home in Florida, getting ready for another day.

But no. This here, this is real.

Today we took a short drive to the Ship Harbor Trail. Our honeymoon treehouse cottage is just a short distance from the sea. In two minutes we round the curve and there is the rocky coastline, the ocean, some days calm and blue, others gray and rough. The forest is just a short distance further, with signs pointing down into hidden trails begging to be explored. Today we decided to take a chance on Ship Harbor, not knowing what was there. We pushed through woods, clambered over rocks, and found ourselves walking along a small cliff. Here we found ourselves a small place to sit and write.

The sea is “feisty” today, as Chris put it. The water pushes and pulls and churns against the rocks. The Atlantic seems different here from the wide sandy beaches back home in Florida. A little more aggressive? Untamed by progress and condominiums and the tourism industry? Not necessarily better, but different. And whatever the difference is, I’m thankful to see this new side of my old friend.

The distant islands along the coastline are masked in a hazy gray fog, and the overcast sky presses the horizon into a flat line of gray and more gray. I can imagine the fishermen making their living, the ships tossed about, the past. Everything feels older in New England… more rooted, weightier. The sea knows their stories more than I can imagine.

What an appropriate place to start a marriage. Watching the ocean flood over stone, smoothing out the edges. Stones unmoving, but changing in microscopic ways, the same way I can already feel the first salty blasts of our new union and the way they are already beginning to weather and change me, already smoothing my edges and shaping me into something entirely new as we take our first stumbling steps into becoming one.