These are views of the trail and shore at Indian Point, a Nature Conservancy property that we hiked into yesterday afternoon. Somehow we managed not to step onto any Acadia trails while we were here . . . and that is hard to do on this island.

Usually, on our visits, we are gung-ho about climbing a mountain, seeing a view. But for some reason both of us--not at all sick, not notably exhausted--have been almost convalescent in our lack of get-up-and-go. Yes, we walked several miles, and I did an exercise class with my friend, and today we are going to help her with yard work. But we didn't "accomplish a peak"; we didn't even want to. We wanted to be mild, and take giant naps, and potter around at the edge of the sea.

Right now I am sitting in a comfortable shabby chair and drinking coffee and looking into the sunshine over Goose Cove. The tide is out, and the mudflats are littered with seaweed and boulders. In the distance is Swan's Island. The blue water is speckled with gulls. The blue sky is streaked lightly with white. This has been a sweet and elegiac visit to a place we've known for decades, a history-cavern of children and dog and long friendship, always a respite and a peace in our lives. A place that has never belonged to us, yet has dearly belonged to us.