The soft golden morning light glistened off the rain-soaked pines, An evening of storms reaching its end as the day burst through the night, That gentle golden hue shrouded the forest in the peace of late a summer haze, The shimmering leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, As hummingbirds darted past in the distance, All signs that despite all the calamity, Nature’s powerful play rolls on.
Trees glistening with freshly fallen rain, As the evening sun makes it way through the ominous clouds, The waves of the bay dance in glee, As a red breasted merganser floats in the distance, Evenings in Maine can only be described as beauty itself.
A Mallard cuts through the glassy waters, Golden Eagles soar across the azure expanse of the sky, The mighty wind blows the birch trees in veneration toward the heavens, Pine trees rise from the crashing waves of the mighty sea, They stand roots locked, bracing against time and tide.
There is still a place like this, North of chaos and despair, Far from the cities, A place where Nature reigns supreme, And the gentle roar of the wilderness captures the hearts of all who see it.
This land challenges you, Brains and brawn, But it rewards those who persevere, With beauty that only some have the mettle to behold.
The deep white fog rolled into the bay like a tidal wave, Covering it in a deep sacred shroud of white, Then the clouds opened, and the rain fell as if it was poured from some heavenly sea, In the distance, a Great Blue Heron calls out.
He stalks his prey through the fog, As he moves, raindrops slide down his smooth long gray feathers, And the deep mud of the bay pulls down his feet with every step.
His movements are like that of the ocean, slow and steady, Only to be followed by something powerful and unstoppable, He strikes a violent stab at the ground, Then disappears fish scales gleaming from his beak into the fog.