The Ocean’s Lavender Hour

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Yesterday morning a young male deer yanked apples off a tree with an eager mouth. His antlers were as tall as a hand. This morning the sun bounced off clean snow into every window of the house. Now, dimming light rests on the small waves coming into shore. It is the ocean’s lavender hour. Evergreen profiles turn black. Combing through the round rocks, I find crab shells and a lobster tail. Gulls have nothing to talk about, or are flying so high I can’t hear them. The snow is gray at dusk. It’s a thorough quiet, through and through.

Jenna Beaulieu

About Jenna Beaulieu

Jenna is a writer and fine art photographer who recently moved from the Saint John Valley region to the quiet side of Mount Desert Island. She’s a fan of excellent music, homemade gravy, and colored pencils (also, short books and long books, good pens, flannel, and when the June bugs don’t really come out much that year). For more about Jenna and her work, visit her website at www.jennabeaulieu.com