This was Goose Cove yesterday afternoon.

We arrived just before 4, stopping first for crab sandwiches and the No Kings rally in Ellsworth, then for a walk through Nature Conservancy land on Indian Point. The temperature has been mild, in the 50s day and night, and now sea air filters into the cottage as I start a wood fire crackling in the big stove. An open window and a warm wood stove: it's one of the great luxuries.

Usually we're here a couple of weeks later in the season, when the leaves have fallen and the weather has stiffened. But this year we've arrived during the sweet height of autumn. Though the drought has dimmed the tree colors, they're still laden. Asters bloom in the hedgerows, and wandering clusters of nuthatches peep like little kazoo orchestras. 

Now, at sunrise, this is the cove. The lobster boats are at work, engines grumbling, lights ablaze, as the lavender clouds unroll. One crow shouts, then another. I stand in the yard, amazed to be bare-legged outside at 7 a.m. in mid-October Maine, a little too cold, yes, but persevering a moment longer before returning to coffee and wood fire.

This afternoon we're going out with our friend to listen to a jazz show in Southwest Harbor. That's the only plan on the schedule, other than chicken on the grill for dinner. Maybe we'll climb a mountain or clamber over rocks on the shore. Maybe we'll stack firewood. Maybe we'll wrap ourselves in coats and sit in the yard and read. Maybe it will be a good day to be wordless.