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—

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I just read this report from Maine:

Three days ago the surf was calm and today "...an 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.