Feb 09

Recollections of Maine

My sensitive toes are frozen - yet there is no snow.

The wind billows through my shirt - but there is no sound of rustling maple leaves.

Beneath my feet, the soil is loose - no glacial till of granite is too be seen.

Shadows of birds are cast on the ground - though they are to big to be sparrows

My glasses darken - but the sun shines down on a different land.

After a moment of reverie, the crashing of distant waves fill my ears. I look up, absorbing the mountainless landscape.

Aspects of home comforted me, though there was no doubt that I wasn't in Vermont.

It was all so familiar, yet so different. No matter how many times I have visited, the Atlantic always puts me in my place. It's as if the prescence of the ocean was there to remind me of our position in nature. We are bound by land.

No matter how much we have explored it, the vast expanse before me still remains without equal. Every time the powerful surf calls me toward it: a limitless, wild blue frontier like none other.