Alison Schrag: Exploring Misty Horizons at the Edge of the World
Alison Schrag points out that the journey begins before sunrise, when the water is still, and harbor lamps paint trembling ladders across the bay. The air tastes like cold stone and citrus peel. I follow a gravel road toward the cliffs, passing stacked lobster pots and lean skiffs tipped on their sides. Mist rises in a patient curl that softens every line. The town fades behind me until only gull cries remain. At the gate of the preserve, silence gathers. Footsteps turn steady, breath finds a rhythm, and the path slips into spruce shadow that smells of resin and rain.