LOVE NOTES, CONNERS NUBBLE, APRIL 17
On the trail, water—ice an hour earlier—
trickles down the adjusted stones. At 9:00 a. m.
we reach the summit, elevation 588 feet,
you naming buds and shrubs along the way.
Morning hangs like a pearl over Eagle Lake.
Cadillac rises to the east, Blue Hill to the west.
South, the Bubbles, Katahdin, perhaps,
on the northern horizon. Green lichens and
mosses litter the granite, and maple buds
brush the valley to a reddish glow. Fishermen’s
voices echo from a far corner of the lake. Back
on the carriage road three girls chatter,
one in a Cottage Care sweatshirt. They dart
between the coping-stones to the water, grin,
snap selfies, and text them away on a laugh.
In a thicket a ruffed grouse revs his accelerating
love-song, and a middle-aged couple puffs
up a rise on rented bikes along the immaculate
corridor. In a cove a pair of common mergansers
paddle amiably along, the male’s back a smear
of dazzling white above the blue. And
all the while I’m writing this to you.
Thomas R. Moore