This photograph was taken from the shore of the bay, in Bar Harbor, Maine. As I mentioned in an earlier post, my father is from southeastern Maine, and the place has always held great memories for me. The weathered geometry of the rocks on the beaches struck me more during this trip than as a kid, when I was wont to be found between and betwixt the ocean-side boulders with knees perpetually skinned by the barnacles. Though not taken at Goose Rocks or Old Orchard Beach, where my dad would have been found in the summers, Maine is synonymous with him, and I am nothing, if not a chip off the old block.
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