James Witter had several problems, and while some were real (his property taxes were going up, he was sure), most were in his head. He knew this, in the way he knew the sun would rise every morning, in the way he knew if someone didn’t let the dog out by 8am, she would pee on the carpet. Still, James felt a persistent, consuming animosity toward the good things in his life, because, deep down, he feared the good things were only there to distract him from the calamity he felt sure was coming. There’s a word for that, Jen would tell him. Begins with an A. Ends in I-E-T.

He was not a photographer, not really. But he slung a bulky camera around his neck anyway. It hung there, a memory-making machine, to capture the fleeting scenes that, for as far back as he could recall, marked his days.

He stood on the rocky breakwater overlooking Wepawaug Harbor. The sun was setting in the west and a pink September sky scattered overhead. He remembered the first time a scene ever clicked in his mind. He was seven, maybe eight, riding the bus home from Paugwonk Elementary. He slumped against the window, sad for some reason. Paugwonk was a farm town and there was an old, abandoned grass runway for ancient crop-dusters that, even by the early ‘80s, had stopped flying. He’d seen the runway many times, but something about that day, overcast, the runway disappearing into a gray mist that hovered over the green grass, made his little head buzz with melancholy recognition. He didn’t have the words for what had just happened, but he knew he’d remember that scene forever. He’d been remembering scenes and their feelings ever since.

A man walked into the harbor. James watched him through the viewfinder, wondering how far he’d go and thinking of Edna Pontelier’s walk of awakening into the sea.

James felt the water around his own ankles. Then he laughed to himself. I am ridiculous, he thought. He took a deep breath in, did his best to gather all the air of New England, from this, the southern shore, to the imagined mountains of Maine. Soon it will be autumn and in the crisp air, everything will feel alive.