 Oh, how I struggle for control. I have spent a lifetime attempting to control my environment, relationships and pretty much anything that crossed my path. In my sixth decade I ask myself, How’s that workin’? Sitting on a whitewashed deck of a grand hotel in Maine, my perspective shifts like the milky morning fog blanketing the craggy coastline.  In the solitude of this remote mid-coast cove, with the only audible sound the ever so gentle lapping of water on the bow of an elegant sloop, I am in concert with nature. Elegantly gliding over the reflective glass surface, a man, a boat and a faint breeze in unison.  I am discovering the appeal of Maine appears to be the lack of struggle. The need to control the weather or one’s place in it seems not to exist here. Here in my protective inlet, man and nature live in a harmony. An interplay of melodious tides, in tune with winged and finned creatures, orchestrates nature’s universal rhythm. I am merely a note in this transcendent symphony.  Today, I have surrendered to the moment and the music, becoming as vaporous as the early morning fog. Am I much more than the impenetrable haze? Thick, yet sometimes transparent, luminescent, yet occasionally dim? Maybe. But like the sultry, impermeable fog, someday I too will simply dissipate. Live in color, Abby 
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