by RJ Heller | Aug 1, 2024 | Creative Work
Rigged lines pull taunt, coax a perfunctory billow of sail Once received, never to perish Wind perhaps or my own breath? Maybe both The sea rises again and again, pushes, pulls, leaving me here, taking me there, now everywhere; horizon mocks, tells stories, calls me...
by RJ Heller | Jul 28, 2024 | Life Downeast
There is an almost perfect concave-cupped cove in Machiasport that will listen to your thoughts. It has been here for eons of time. Its shore is covered in stones of all size, shape and color. There is no sand here, only brightly polished stones of granite, red...
