December 20, 2015 - Look To The West

The Sun, setting smugly now, must know a secret that we do not know.  Each day he grows weaker and weaker still.  His rays, if seen at all, shine low on the horizon.  Gone are the days of the powerful zenith, the days when the Sun seemed to stand still in the sky above us, imperious.  Gone are the days of carefree frivolity, of peace and plenty, of what seemed like endless growth.  Now he dwells weakly in the western sky.

I was inclined to believe that images such as the photo below were a false bravado designed to throw us off the scent of his imminent demise.  I thought they were a last attempt at the greatness he once knew, a last attempt of his former glory and nothing more.  But after yesterday’s recon mission when I silently stalked the Sun and learned some of his secrets, I am not so sure anymore.  I did not hear the words of the charms he whispered, but I know they had great power in them.

Magic is afoot . . .

The air is pregnant with something that is about to happen.  We humans are not told of it, and most of us wouldn’t listen anyway as we run back and forth in our errands and our jobs.  Most of us are blind to the cycles that rule us like an iron fist.  But the animals of the forest, the animals know.  And they have told me that something is about to happen, not in so many words but in their actions.  Waiting.  All eyes look to the west now.  Watching.

I am fortunate to have my connection with the outdoors, to spend more time there than I do indoors.  I will keep vigil, and when I see the impending event (whatever it might be), I will let you know what has happened.  Perhaps this time we will not forget.

December 19, 2015 - Secret Sun

The shadows are already long by 2 p.m. at this latitude this time of year.  The Sun gets to sneak into places he’s rarely allowed to see.  Usually, only springtime grants him access to the woods.  When the snow has finally melted and before the trees leaf out, the Sun is allowed a brief chance to see the inner workings of the forest.  It doesn’t last long, though, because the days are often rainy and overcast in the spring, and then the leaves cover everything and the Sun’s chances are foiled once again.  In winter, the snow does the same thing the leaves do, and the Sun continues to be barred from the woods.

But not this time.  Now the Sun is given a rare opportunity to enter the woods in ways he could never have imagined before.  Whole sections of the Earth are revealed to him, boulders and ledge, rocky overhangs and small caves.  These are the places the Sun has rarely seen, places where the night creatures live.  Now the truth is revealed.

Long shadows cast by the secret sun.

So you would think that the Sun would boldly explore these areas.  You would think he would rake the countryside over, exploring and examining every crevice, sneaking into tiny caves, learning the hidden layout of the land.  While some of that occurs, it’s not as much as you might expect.  Instead, I caught the Sun red-handed seeking out the tiny trees, those that are perhaps only waist high.

I saw him speaking with them because I do that kind of thing.  I sneak up on the Sun and watch what he does.  I only do this in the cold weather when he is too tired to notice me.  In the summer I hide from him so he can’t find me.  But today I saw him, and I saw what he did.  He found those tiny trees, the ones he never knew about, the ones that were hidden from him because of the canopy of the forest, the ones that might never make it to adulthood.

And what did he do?  He visited each one as if it were the most precious thing in the world.  He stopped by and stood near each little tree, putting his arm around each one, smiling and chatting as if he had all the time in the world.  He made each little tree feel special.  He gave each little tree a veiled gift, the gift of what it might see if it persevered and grew to adulthood.  He whispered secret charms over each tree, teaching each one what it might do with his stored energy.

Then just as quickly as he arrived, the Sun was gone, but not without my having seen it all.  Perhaps I have misjudged him.  Being so fair-skinned, I have always found him to be so harsh.  I have always hidden from him.  I imagine I will continue to do so in the summer months.  I would be a fool to stay too long in the Sun.

But now I know some of his secrets, and he is not what I thought him to be.  This changes everything.

December 18, 2015 - Strange Maine

It was the strangest sound.  Really, it was.  Sort of like a snorting sound coupled with a blowing of air and spraying of water.  It was an aquatic creature sound, for sure.  I have lived near the ocean long enough to know that sound.  I wondered if another seal had gotten stuck somewhere between the rocks and shore, although it didn’t sound like a seal.

It was in an area we call “the pond,” an area where seals do not swim.  The pond is between two small peninsulas, and the ocean water has been damned off to allow only some water in.  The rest is freshwater that flows downward from the craggy land and into the pond.  If there’s one thing we have a lot of here in Maine, it’s water.  The combination produces a brackish kind of water with some salt but not nearly as much as in the ocean.  Consequently, when the weather is very cold, the pond freezes over completely and becomes a mile-long ice skating rink.

The fog brings out the strangest things.

But the weather is not very cold and the enormous pond is not frozen over as it usually is this time of year.  It usually has a good layer of ice on it with another layer of snow.  Usually the wretched coyotes can travel back and forth on it now.  But not this year.  This year is different.

So, as I said, it was the strangest sound.  The fog was tremendously thick, and I peered and peered into it, looking for what had made the sound.  I went closer than I should have, but I was afraid to go any closer than that because I was unsure of my footing.  Sinking in up to your waist is not good this time of year because even though things aren’t frozen, you can still easily get hypothermia.

I took this photo.  This was the best I could do.  I know it isn’t clear.  I blew the photo up, and it looked a bit like a small protrusion from the water with some twigs and seaweed stuck to it.  However, I can tell you that I am very familiar with the area I was in, and there is nothing protruding from the waters of the pond in that area.  Nothing.  I have seen that area daily for many years.  But today there was something there.  I just don’t know what it was.  I heard a splash and blowing again, and that prompted me to take the picture when I did.  Right after I took the photo, whatever had made the noise was gone, and the surface of the water was flat and gray again.

Was it just a trick of the fog moving in and out, even thicker in some spots than others?  Maybe, although I wonder where the sound came from if it was just a trick of the fog.  It is true that the water plays tricks with our hearing as well, and sometimes I can hear a conversation a half mile across the cove on the next island because of the way the waves amplify and seem to bring sound across.  But this was in the pond where there aren’t any waves to speak of.

You can make your own mind up about this, but I have seen enough strange things in Maine to know that something odd was out there.  I have seen strange creatures on the side of the road at night when driving.  I have seen wolves, although we are told by wildlife “experts” there are none here.  Ask any Mainer and they’ll tell you differently, though.  There are cougars here too (also called mountain lions and pumas), but we are also told that we are mistaken.  No matter.  I have seen them.

So I do not know what this was, and I did not get to see it as clearly as I have seen a wolf or a cougar because of the fog.  If it had been a rock or earthy outcrop from the water, it would still be there but it disappeared after I took the photo.  Something was here, and I think it was here because of the strange weather.  Another reason to continue documenting the strange case of Maine.

December 17, 2015 - Limbo

I did not know how empty I was until I saw this field in front of the river.  It should be covered with snow and ice, asleep under a wintry onslaught and unable to show me its appalling condition.  But it is not covered with snow and ice.  It should be hidden, suffering in silence, but it is not hidden.  It should leave to the imagination secret hopes and dreams, but it cannot do that.  There should be a blanket of white concealing what we cannot face, but there is not.

Lost in limbo.

It is not in the season of birth.  It is not in the season of growth.  It is not in the season of reproduction and decline.  It is not even in the season of death.  It is just stuck somewhere in a strange limbo, a limbo that is cold and wet and grey, a limbo that is isolated and forlorn.  Its skeletons are fully exposed, and its hopes and dreams of fleshing out are lost.  They have nowhere to go and hide so that they might plot and plan.  They are naked and struck down.

I know I am affected by the seasons, as are we all, but I did not realize just how much.  Now I am paying attention.  Now I am waiting to be thrust into the overdue season.  And I am waiting and I am waiting.  Yet still, we continue to wait in this exile, in this limbo.

The Lord of Winter, whose drums even now are heard in the dark of the night, has not shown his face.  I know that he will, but for now he relishes the many voices that cry out his name.  “Do they not usually curse me?” he smiles to himself.  “Do they not usually fear me?  Or at least loathe me?  Are they, then, secret lovers of the Bringer of Destruction after all?  Will they beg for death?” he smiles to himself.  “All in good time.”

I did not know how empty I was until I saw this field in front of the river.

December 16, 2015 - When I Retire

When I retire, I want you to put me out to pasture where I can relax in my favorite environment, in a place where I feel most at home.  Set me out in a field where the sweet grass grows long, and the air is scented with its intoxicating incense.  Put me in a forgotten place where no one goes anymore, in a field that is no longer important.  Put me in a spot where the old wooden fences are falling down, and whatever it is they were keeping in or out has long since been forgotten.

Let me relax in the sun.

When I retire, continue on with things in new and different ways, but don’t tell me about them.  I don’t need to know them because my old ways still work well, and the quiet cadence of days gone by gives me solace.  Leave me in my comfortable old field where I know every blade of grass personally.  Face me toward the sunrise so I can greet each new day with a smile, and then let the last rays of the setting sun warm my back.  I won’t have to see him to know he’s there.  We are old friends, me and the sun, and I trust him.

When I retire, let me sleep at last as I please, since I was so busy in my youth.  Keep my meadow quiet, letting in only the forest creatures, the birds, and the insects.  Bring us afternoon tea so the animals and I can catch up on all we missed while I was busy working.  Let the old trees grow older and throw their shadows where they will.  It doesn’t matter anymore how things grow, only that they do grow.  And that is enough for me.  It is my meadow, after all, and in the end, I will leave it as wild as I found it.

December 15, 2015 - In The Fog

IN THE FOG

appearing

and then not

looming in and out

thickly

sometimes seen

or not

with clanging bells

and foghorns

and ocean sounds

more trustworthy

as sight fails

in the night that isn’t

in the day unfound

between the senses

almost known

Sometimes seen.

December 14, 2015 - Travelers

If upon your travels you come to a difficult place on the path, a place with hidden swampy areas that are difficult to pass or a place with treacherous rocky outcrops and thorny brambles, please do put down a wooden board when walking.  Use the wooden boards already put there by others to help make your traveling easier, and then add a helpful board of your own as you are going along.

Helpful additions to the path.

You could just travel light without any helpful boards to put down at all.  You could rely on the kindness and foresight and decency of others who have already placed boards down before your arrival.  You could sail through on the generosity and kindness of previous travelers, and in fact, many people do just that.  Some don’t even realize that the boards were placed there specifically to help them, if they see the boards at all, that is.  They can be forgiven.  Others see the boards and know exactly what they are for and that previous travelers offered them to be helpful, and still they do not place a helpful board of their own down for others.  “It’s not my problem,” they tell themselves.  “I didn’t ask for any help, and it’s not my fault that it was offered.”

It’s the latter type of traveler that tries the souls of others, and I’m afraid the woods are thick with them.  His insensitive selfishness and narcissism add to the treacherousness of the path.  The wooden boards can only last so long until the swampy region consumes them, and so fresh boards are always needed.  Because there are not as many travelers who place boards as there are who take advantage of them, the path can often be washed out and difficult to navigate.

But rather than focus on the takers, remember that there are always givers.  There are always helpers on the path.  These are the people who often encounter neglect from previous selfish users of the path, and they don’t want to subject others to what they have had to endure themselves.  They decide that if they can help, they will help.  So they kindly place a board and sometimes a little sign with an arrow that points the way.  “This way, my friend.  Let me help you.”

And so, if upon your travels you come to a difficult place on the path, a place with hidden swampy areas that are difficult to pass or a place with treacherous rocky outcrops and thorny brambles, please do put down a wooden board when navigating the path.  Remember those who offered help to you even though you didn’t know them.  Remember, too, those who offered no help at all.  Then decide what kind of traveler you want to be.

December 13, 2015 - A Perfect Pinecone

A prickly pitch pinecone has fallen and landed pointing straight up.  It has weathered to a whitish color where exposed to the elements and has long since opened up to release its seeds.  It has fulfilled its purpose, and there is no further reason for it to be here.

The perfect spiral, again.

Except that there is.  The ugly pitch pine tree (and if you have ever seen one, you know exactly what I mean) has produced thousands of pinecones with razor-sharp thorns jutting out of them.  I do not advise that you ever pick one up without a glove.  This gnarled, twisted, and crooked tree with inch-thick slabs of scaly bark often hanging from it--this extremely homely tree with needles that twist upward and lower limbs that are always dead--never lets go and never gives up.

And somehow--somehow!--this prickly pinecone sits in the forest with the most perfect distribution of woody petals traveling around in a harmonious spiral, which only the Great Alchemist could have created.  It’s madness.  It’s sheer madness that a tree of such humble qualities and poor birthright could produce a flower (for that’s what a pinecone is) so stunning and so utterly unnoticed.  It’s madness to know that I walk among royalty in the woods every day and I am often too blind to see it.

I don’t dare to pick it up because I know it will draw blood.  There is no way to gather a pitch pinecone.  So I leave it where I see it, knowing that no one else will ever see it.  I am grateful to have been shown this secret beauty today, grateful to be shown, once again, the magical spiral of life.  In a world filled with tinsel and gaudy displays and plastic money, the ugly pitch pine tree and its lethal pinecone are treasures beyond all measure.  I am wealthy beyond my wildest dreams.

December 12, 2015 - Nothing to Fear

It has certainly been a mild December so far.  Jaunts through the woods are still easy to do, if a bit wet.  The scent in the air is unbelievable, even for someone who lives in Maine and is very used to it.  The freshness of the pine combined with the decaying oak leaves is truly intoxicating.  There is nothing to fear.
 

I came across this tree and bent down low to the base of it to look at all the moss and lichen growing on it.  The tree didn’t know which way to grow, and so it sent out two main branches, which have been best friends now for many, many years.  This photo doesn’t do their friendship the justice it deserves.  There is nothing to fear.

Capturing the light.

I couldn’t help but notice as I snapped the photo that the sun was captured just outlining where they were holding hands, and I thought to myself how the light never seems to miss even the humblest of friendships if those friendships be true.  Two hearts will always shine the light.  There is nothing to fear.

It seems there’s so much we’re told to worry about these days.  Actually, we have a history of being told to worry.  Just recently in the last 50 years or so, we’ve been told to worry about communists, nuclear attack, another ice age (yes, they tried to scare us with that in the ‘70s), an energy crisis, the swine flu, the bird flu, Ebola, anthrax, global warming, fat in our food, phosphates in our water, getting vaccines, not getting vaccines, and the list goes on.  The world seems to run on fear and worry.

Isn’t it nice, then, that there are some places where the fear and worry never seem to reach?  Oh, I’m not saying that we shouldn’t be prudent and act when necessary, but all of the constant fear and worry is exhausting.  Head into the woods, whether it be a wild and remote area, a state preserve, or just a city park.  You’ll find an absence of the fear mongering.  Somehow the woods have managed to survive all this time without being destroyed by the latest menace in the media.  Come to think of it, so have we.

It’s all perspective.  Find that outline of sunshine around a tree or a rock or perhaps just your hand.  Don’t worry.  The light will find you.  There is nothing to fear.