In the fall of 1978, I returned to Maine for the second long stay of the year. It had to be long enough to make a ninety-six-hour bus ride in each direction worthwhile (seventy-nine dollars "anywhere we go"). This foggy, drizzly afternoon was a little daunting but great for the light and atmosphere. By the time I found this, the third or fourth scene in the immediate vicinity, my legs and feet were pretty well soaked. As usual for the time, I made only one exposure. I returned to this spot twice during the fall of 1985 and the utter and total absence of what you see here was really quite amazing. The asters in the foreground were already long gone and the hawthorn tree was yet green, many young birch trees had sprouted, and, of course, the light wasn't even vaguely similar. Only the overall form of the hawthorn enabled me to be certain I had found the same spot.