Apparently I'm in to story telling recently ....so..

A few summers back I was on my lovely island out in the middle of the Atlantic, and by the middle I mean 25 miles off of the coast of Rockland. Close enough. It was mid August, I was preparing to come back to Bucksport, when a storm surge hit from one of those Tropical storms. Now living in Maine and Maine having no resemblance of The Tropics you wouldn't think that we would have little to no repercussions from the storm. Wrong.

 While the day was crystal clear and the temperature ran about 70 there was no way that anyone was leaving that island. Not even the rugged fisherman braves these seas, and they're fearless. The winds were gusting from the easterly and the beakers were rolling in one on top of the other as high tide approached. White foam frothed up onto the paths all the way onto the Maine roadway. There were sea cucumbers in the roses and lobsters tumbled in at my feet. lawns were covered in seaweed. My dad strolling along in his cut off, Hawaiian print short and his gum-rubbers picked up a deceased crustacean looking around to one of the  local fisherman. " I thought this job was hard" he laughed, a typical corny dad line, and tossed it towards his friend.

We all walked around that whole day soaked from the wast down, snapping pictures like tourist at an attraction show. It was just that. A show. that summer i will never forget, "the island doesn't want me to leave!" I shouted as I dramatically swooned to my mother. She just rolled her eyes.

The next day it was like it never even happened only remains of seaweed and the change of the shoreline shape were there to show that that beautiful contradiction of a storm had ever even came.