They’re Heading Home
Just this evening, coming down the road, we saw a man and two dogs, a golden and an English spaniel. They were just standing there, heads raised, looking down the bay. And following their gaze I saw, and then I heard, the flight of wild geese, angling away from the sunset, seeking quiet, sheltered waters where they’d rest the night, before resuming their journey home.
Wild geese, like those dry leaves of the fall, that “when they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky.”
Something in that moment, in the instinctual wildness shared with man and dogs, made us recognize a passage we observe each year as the season winds down. It’s the fragile tension of transition. The day’s sun was warm; the air quite cold for October and the two combined in a painterly cast of light that held the evening in amber.
Our late autumn guests at Spruce Point Inn – pausing like that wedge of Canadas in this last week of the season – seem to sense it, too. It’s time for moving on, as the year turns. Time for harvesting “oceanside memories made in Maine.” It’s no wonder the earliest makers of these forest paths celebrated the golden season, the penibagos – the leaf-falling moon.
The picture of that man and his dogs stayed with us as we checked the daily comments that come from guests, the report card we, as innkeepers, use to measure our progress and hone the experience that brings national renown to Spruce Point.
And there we found a post drawn in the magic of this October twilight. Our guest wrote, “The place felt like home and I missed it as soon as we drove down the winding road that led us out of Boothbay. We will be back, hopefully, every year.”
Just like the geese.