There’s a place that feels like home to me, since the first time I went there, sometime back in the late 1980’s. It’s a place where the light is forever changing, reflecting the noise or solitude of whatever given moment, whatever given time, across the water, harbor, and bay. It’s liquid, and old locals harp about the changes. New locals do too. But this place is all about change. Covid19 ushered in huge groups and dogs, harbor patrol and police, fishermen and people waiting in line for “take out only,” and now, every other table. Characters come and go and everyone seems to own a piece of the various wharfs and piers, but then no one does.
