I often park to share the view of Drummore Bay,
the long hull-shape of Lee Island, the Phippsburg steeple in the distance. The island splits the bay
from the river. Which way the island seems to slide
against the current depends on the tide. At
ebb the bay becomes a mud flat, smooth
as trowled excrement. Seagulls stand stick-legged
on their slick reflection. Lee Island seemed to
flow up-stream, Squirrel Point towed behind.
Today the tide has filled the bay, on-shore wind
following. Lee Island seems to slip sea-ward. A
fisherman bends his oars as his skiff follows.
At flood the surface stills. the river’s current
slips sea-ward unseen. A yawl, working up
under power, will feel the current on its keel.