The boats rest in the afterglow. The flag still catches the last of the light.
This is what late summer feels like on the midcoast: the hour when everything exhales. The water settles into glass. The sky goes soft. The day doesn't end so much as slowly let go.
Owls Head has looked like this for generations. Working boats, still water, the same golden hour returning every evening like a promise.
For anyone who knows this harbor, or one like it—this is the light you carry with you.
Available as prints and framed pieces for walls that whisper rather than shout.
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The harbor is almost done with its workday.
The boats rest in the afterglow. The flag still catches the last of the light.
This is what late summer feels like on the midcoast: the hour when everything exhales. The water settles into glass. The sky goes soft. The day doesn't end so much as slowly let go.
Owls Head has looked like this for generations. Working boats, still water, the same golden hour returning every evening like a promise.
For anyone who knows this harbor, or one like it—this is the light you carry with you.
Available as prints and framed pieces for walls that whisper rather than shout.
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