Just beyond the wildflowers and grasses is the mouth of the harbour. Fishing boats and sailboats and some bigger boats than those pass by this little spot at Fort Sewell and have for centuries. Old Ironsides even sailed past one day slyly evading the British.
The flowers remain here at the water’s edge through it all though. Every year they rise up, scatter seed, and fall back down to earth.
Perhaps not the very largest of jobs and yet it’s important enough for a little flower and for me as I sit next to it and watch the evening settling over the Atlantic.