It was just about 7:30 in the morning when I took this pic.
My fingers were screaming at me to bring them someplace warm and buy them a coffee.
The Sally B. was alone, but the gloves laid carefully on the wooden box and a few tools here and there told me that the folks who look after her were up and out a lot earlier than I was, and that someone would probably be back soon.
Lobstering happens year-round in Maine, though the lobsters move much farther off shore in winter.
It was 8 degrees yesterday morning, the wind wielding the deathly cold water like a weapon.
And that was on land.
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