Hammonassett State Park

    Last Sunday I decided to take a bike ride to the beach. Now it's a snap to get to the small beach in town - just a small hill over the railroad tracks, a right on Main Street, then the first left... and there you are. 
   But I wanted to ride to the state park over in the next town which boasts one of the most beautiful beaches in the state. I would have to ride through our little town, over the marshes, across a few rivers, pedal into the next town and there I'd be. It seemed like a lovely Sunday outing. The maps told me it was a mere three miles...easy peasy...and so I was off.

     I got to town hall unscathed and crossed over the first bridge ...

 Indian River in Clinton

I passed two yoga studios, three churches, umpteen 18th century homes, some lovely wildflower gardens, a couple of antique shops....then over another bridge,

Harbor on Hammonassett River

then into the next town of Madison and beyond their little ice house,

pedaling through the marsh,

then into the park...

where rose hips on the beach rugosa line the paths,

Brilliance of sumac

and both the roses and golden rods kiss the Sound,

and rocks line some of the coast,

and on others sugary white sand,

and all of this beauty enjoyed from a bike, on a Sunday, in quiet, non-descript little coastal towns.

Happy Trails!

Many Things Small Seem So Grand...

....like the beginnings of the raspberries

which later became black raspberries

or the dainty nesting tables Pat brought us from the thrift store

or the lobelia, happy in moss

Oreo under the grape vine

The faux birdhouse with the faux tin roof that Pete made for the lintel

I am not too proud to confess that having a lintel is a certain amount of pressure

The wild roses climbing over the fence

The baby sparrow preparing to leave the house

Marbles...always marbles...

The new additions to the fence

The yard bunny

and the ice cream wagon, "Scoop to Nuts", parked for the time behind town hall 

brimming with perfect-summer-day smiles.

*************

"may my heart always be open to little

birds who are the secrets of living

whatever they sing is better than to know

and if men should not hear them men are old"   
- e.e.cummings

Happy Birthday Weekend, Siggy!