This morning I hit the road. At my apartment a tree crew was busy cutting down two temperamental maple trees. I didn't think the chorus of chain saws and wood chippers would be ideal for my sensitive ears. After finagling my car out of a tight spot, thanks to my neighbor who elected to box me in with his pickup truck, (the man clearly doesn't understand a full size car doesn't have the same turning radius when next to a house and several boulders) I joined the other cars in their morning commute.
I drove down several side roads towards the beach. The three photos don't do the place justice. I will stress that there were less than a handful out on the beach at 915am. I think I saw more horseshoe crabs than people. Most people don't understand, so shhhh listen carefully, the best time to hit the New Hampshire beaches are not Saturday and Sunday and not in the afternoon. With that shared, I learned that my cell phone has no reception on this majestic stretch. I'll make a mental note, because instead of taking pictures, I should have been lost in the sounds of the crashing baby waves.
There were a few story ideas that popped in my head during this trip. Even more appeared when I jetted off to the Fox Run Mall to revisit how the place has changed in the last twenty or so years. Those are pictures for another day . . .