A steep gravel road will find you, with the help of all-wheel drive, at the picturesque place called Butter Cove. It’s enough to melt your heart – tucked away in a world to itself. I felt at first like I was infringing on its solitary rights.

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But in equal contrast, it seemed to invite me in to its personal space to spend a quiet moment, in wonder at the simple beauty of the rugged landscape, marked by signs of human effort, blanketed in fog and fall foliage.

The sweet smell of the sea combined with the call of the gulls, drew me in to this moment, and I wanted it to last … and last.

This brightly painted stage and the footpath to it, made me wonder who spends their time here, and whose steps have gone before me.

Beside it, a collection of ladders and wood which lend themselves to the owners’ needs from time to time, I’m sure.

Within an adjacent stage, the tools of the trade are visible to all who pass by … netting, rope, well worn jacket and hat, and an assortment of paint cans complete with brushes that show someone’s been busy.

And up the hill, timeworn edifices that speak of memories, and days gone by. There is something awesomely special in those memories, one can picture the curtains in windows, and the creak of the door that welcomes a sailor home … that speak of “home” by the sea.