And now...a windy day. It started blowing last night, making strange noises outside in the unique, pitch black darkness of Maine. In September, when most of the cottages on the lake are empty, there are not enough man made lights to compete with the night, making the darkness feel primeval. On a clear night the stars feel close enough to touch. It’s at night when you are most aware of your status as a visitor, someone from away. During the night a gust of wind made a sharp, screeching noise that woke me up. It was 2 o’clock. I could have drifted back to sleep easily enough, but I was curious. I slid open the door to the deck and felt the fresh wind in my face, cool and damp and smelling like rain. I stepped outside and strained to make out the dock, the edge of the deck...anything. It was like gazing into a dark tunnel of nothing...black as coal. For a moment it brought a suggestion of what it might be like to be blind. I waited for my eyes to adjust. I waited some more. If not for the one house light in the cottage a half a mile across the way, I would have been completely disoriented. I decided to stop fighting it and just stand there with my eyes closed, and let my other senses do the work. The smells of the lake drifted by, spruce trees, the mild briny tang of lake water, the mossy staleness of wet dirt. Then the whistle of the wind in the trees, the rhythmic ripple of waves against the rocky shoreline. I get the distinct impression that this is not my home. But, maybe it could be.
This morning, the sun shines and it’s 63 outside, which will be the highest it gets today, we’re told. Tonight we are in for a low of...40. Each day brings something new here, a different perspective, a different mood. The next two days will just be Pam and me. It will be quieter, lazier, more contemplative. This is good. How many times in life are we afforded the chance for quiet, thoughtful laziness?
Not often enough...
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