Our time in Ogunquit had come to an end, and like a curtain being closed on the first act of a musical, it drew its sun-flecked spring foliage around its enchantments and disappeared into our rear-view mirrors. But since it was just the first act, there are two more to come – what with an extra summer trip for our friends’ wedding, and the closing act in fall. So while we bid adieu to Maine, it’s only a temporary good-bye.

That makes leaving only slightly easier to bare, especially as the weather made a turn for the better just as our time was up.

At least we had lilacs.

Loads of lilacs, spilling forth from branches that seemed to descend from the sky, perfuming our walks and teasing our noses with their sweet aroma.

The scent of paradise has passed, another spring draws to its close. Summer will soon ensue.

A week ago we were still in Ogunquit, and the sun had finally come out. I hastened to the Marginal Way – after three days of rain, you take the first bit of sun and run with it, in case it might not show itself again. When that initial glimpse of blue sky appeared, it was a revelation. It turns out I needn’t have worried or rushed, as the sun deigned to linger for the rest of our time in that fair seaside town. These photos were taken later in the day, when the light was slanting down from the West – a few moments shy of the golden hour.

The best part of a rain spell is when it’s over. The sudden ceasing of the falling from the sky, the gradual straightening of plant stems, the re-opening of flower buds – it’s like morning all over again whenever it happens. The rain also dresses things up – cleaning off pollen and dirt and leaving behind transient diamonds of water on the plainest of leaves.

It affords more colorful garb for those of us trying to stay dry too. Every man should own one raincoat, whether it’s Burberry or bright yellow, and the latter is sometimes more fun. (Especially when paired with pink pants.)

In the end, though, nothing beats the wardrobe in which Mother Nature adorns herself. I could never compete.

Is it meta to be reading ‘To the Lighthouse’ by Virginia Woolf while en route to see a lighthouse on the coast of Maine? I don’t know – mainly because I don’t really know what ‘meta’ means. Whether it is or not, that was the glorious predicament in which I found myself three days into our Ogunquit vacation. The Nubble Lighthouse is an oft-photographed and much-visited tourist attraction just a short drive down the coast from Ogunquit. It’s on an island just off-shore, and cannot be reached by bridge.

On this day, when conditions forbid a walk on the beach or the Marginal Way, we take the scenic Shore Road route to the lighthouse. Upon arrival, the winds whip wickedly upon the shore, and the waves are crashing violently against the rocks. The rain finds ways of pelting both from above, and from the sides – a vertical and horizontal attack that manages to invade the most tightly-buttoned hood. Yet the scene is, despite all discomfort, breathtakingly beautiful – rife with the kind of beauty that doesn’t translate to photos. It’s a gray sort of gorgeousness, lost among the missing vibrancy of what’s supposed to be a bright blue sky, studded with white puffy clouds and a clear sun.

It’s the kind of beauty that resonates more deeply than the flashy pomp and circumstance that often populates these posts. It’s the antithesis of what almost everyone thinks of me, and as such it is the sort of beauty that’s always touched me the most ~ the sort that lasts.