Sunday, August 23, 2009

Back From Maine

I spent part of last week infatuated with the ocean—not as a beach lover, nor as one who succumbs to the lure of large sandy expanses. It's the ocean either cresting and breaking or continually bearing down on cobbles that acts as a lure.

If you see something everyday does the mystery disappear or deepen?

Several years ago, on the way to Monument Valley, I stopped at a combo gas station/ convenience store to buy water and fill up my depleted gas tank.

"Unbelievable shapes and colors," I said to a woman who picked up two large waters at the same time I pondered between a six-pack of seltzer and a six-pack of Spritzers.

"I don't know," she said. "I grew up here and I'm used to seeing these every day. It's just where I live."

Does everything become mundane for some people?

It’s never the same— each pattern of a wave, its swell approaching the coast, the height of a wave—so many differences. I think about the distance a wave travels.

I think about the distance we all need to travel—metaphysical musings—

I just read this report from Maine:

Three days ago the surf was calm and today " early afternoon crowd of thousands ...lined the national park’s rocky shoreline to watch the high surf and crashing waves, ..the effects of Hurricane Bill”..."

" ... waves swept over 20 people..." Tragically one young girl did not survive.