Brian always carefully observed subtle changes in the season, as this celebration of autumn reveals, from November 1995. ~ Kevin Shortsleeve (Brian’s brother, and editor of a work in progress, The Best of Gunk’holing.)

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A Window on The Cove

During a quiet moment in late September we yearn for the summer heat which not too long ago we thought would never end. Around the cove, hearty wild­flowers continue to blossom, seemingly impervious to the water temperature dropping by one or two degrees every few days. The green life of marsh grass drains down its stem as the sand in the hour glass of time seems to fall faster with each shortening day. We gaze transfixed; nature weaves her tapestry; we linger beneath the autumn sun, knowing in our heart of hearts that all too soon the wind will be more from the north. One sniff of cold air and we ask ourselves, “is this it?” The shifting weather along our coast seems contradictory and unpredictable. The comforting warmth of daylight and exhilarating cool of night offset one another to the point of a standstill, a climatic pause—a prelude to something else. 

The day to day changes are imperceptibly subtle until one week in October when the seaside trees rush to full color. Below, the marsh blends hues of red and gold. In a calm moment, the water mirrors the multicolored wall of lavish seascape. Generally, by this time the only regular visitors to whom the cove plays host are commercial shellfishermen. What a difficult and glori­ous way to earn a living! I surely don’t envy them their work, but I long for their peaceful opportunity to be at one with Mother Nature’s habitat. In the distance we discover an...