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By MARY K. OTTO

This is what I know: On a cold, sunny morning a few weeks ago when I had returned from my walk, I brewed coffee and brought breakfast to my writing table, as I do nearly every morning. I had been immersed for several weeks in the collection 100 Poems...

By MARY K. OTTO

Suddenly it’s cooler here in Maine. My mid-day swim in the bay on Sept. 1 was brisk. A stiff breeze out of the north urged me off course, made me concentrate as I breast stroked deliberately toward our dock. Brilliant sun brought welcome warmth once I...

By MARY K. OTTO

Chugging up the sunny hillside toward home after our usual morning walk in the woods, my husband and I entered our warm cottage. It felt good on a 13-degree Vermont day, in contrast to the previous day’s 55 degrees We hung up our heavy coats and moved...

By MARY K. OTTO

It was early June before my husband and I finally arrived at our log cabin in Maine where we would again spend the summer. As usual, we looked forward to the joys we knew awaited us. There would be days with children and grandchildren, visits with...

By MARY K. OTTO

Especially during summers in Maine, I am inspired by poet and essayist Mary Oliver. Yes, we share the name Mary. We both grew up in the Midwest and easily came to love the ocean as adults. Reading and writing have been central, deeply satisfying...