-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
![]()
-
Autumn in coastal Maine exists in stark contrast to summer’s persistent flow of tourists. Postcard-ready images of a glistening green landscape dotted with sailboats recede into the muted colors and slow silence of the next season. The ebb of people from away is marked by annual rituals—cottages are shuttered, downtown shops are closed, boats are unmoored and stored—and the locals who remain will hunker down for evenings spent somewhere between the fog and the fireplace.
