Nathaniel T. Hughes

Ocean midst drips on everything, to old growth oaks, to stubby pines, bay laurel and tree ferns, all weighed down and ready to perk back up; It's not much different than our second trip to Maine and our departing day from the stormy Cape: All things can glisten with new dimensional perspective, reflect old points of happiness and then trail off in different ways. With a lonely Floridian cold, each turn hangs with little spanish moss, hangs like neverending waves, rolling white sand dunes and sparsely scattered beach grass swaying with the wind: In whatever distance we create, there remains our lifelines, our escapes inside each other, our fordged renewal and compromise - An unrelenting balance of universal tow, speed-up and slow-down; Here, from tinges of sadness, to footsteps facing conflicting directions, from scattered sea shells and waves of reflection, from Anastasia to home, There's still a huge a part of you that will always be with me.