Camden is a small midcoast Maine town that I hadn’t visited for years. I was fortunate enough to have a writing retreat closeby in So. Thomaston ME, so I drove north to visit Camden again. This photo was taken above the harbor, last May.
Today I drove up route one to Camden,
passed downtown in the half-sun day, all
cafe lattes, sun hats, soaps, Camden is
a tourist town now, a yacht-filled harbor,
no fish or oysters for sale here anymore.
When we were twenty-one Eduardo and I came,
in 1980. We left Boston after work, got
the tent up by eleven, under flashlights
and stars, then slept, tumbled close,
covered with scents of pine and salt.
In the morning, sun the harbor glittered.
Waves sprayed diamonds for us when
we gathered more mussels than I’d ever
seen, before or since. We cooked them
in a huge pot over the fire. We drank wine,
laughed, and we were happy.