I was exploring Schoodic Peninsula one morning, wandering down unnamed trails to the water’s edge.  Over paths of loose stones, they sing a song with every step I took on them.  The fog hangs low, showing me the treasures it wants me to see—the periwinkles awaiting the next tide on a rock smooth by the water movement with every tide.  The sounds of the lobster boats and sea birds providing the background music to the scene unfolding in front of me.