I imagine that most of you have had enough of Jewell Island. Me too. I’ve been on this island far much longer than planned. I’ve walked all the trails and explored most of the shoreline, including the conglomerate places at low tide. Now that I’m home researching the island, I must go back. There are questions that need answers and the off-trail places to explore.
– Back to the journey.
I let go of the rock steps one more time, eyes gazing out over the quiet water. The vision before me changes with each blink of the eye. The reality is that everything I see alters its variables at speeds far beyond true comprehension. The pathway from eye to brain to understanding utterly fails to keep pace with nature.
Colors are mirages blending, melting from one to another; magnified, dimished, refracted, bending. Sun-dogs and rainbows, the aurora borealis, and stratified skies, create large spaces within the depths of self. These are special memories, larger than life creating magical spaces that eclipse even the most difficult circumstances.
Land forms, be it island or rock, a stick in the mud, or the top of a mountain outcrop, fathomless in their own way. Constantly shifting from minsicule displacement to large catastrophick events.
The rest of the constituents above and below, the ocean conveys the most powerful forces that delight and destroy.
I was going to wait for a more appropriate time to share another quote from “The Pine Tree State.” However, I believe it fits within this post rather well, even though the place being referred is Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
“One of Taine’s charming bits of description fits admirably into the scene before us: “The coast stretches into the vapor its long strip of polished sand; the gilded beach undulates softly and opens its hollows to the ripples of the sea. Each ripple comes up foamy at first, then inensibly smooths itself, leaves behind it the flocks of its white fleece, and goes to sleep upon the shore it has kissed. Meanwhile another approaches, and beyond that again a new one, then a whole troop, striping the blue water with embroidery of silver. They whisper low, and you scarecely hear them under the otucry of the distant billows; nowhere is the beach so sweet, so smiling; the land softens its embrace the better to receive and caress those darling creatures, which are, as it were, the little children of the sea.”
This is the picture that the summer visitor knows, all greace and feeling. there is another, known only to those who have stood here when some autumnal gale was storming along the coast as if it would crush it to atoms, when destruction rides upon the tempest, and all the world of waters seems at war with itself. Silence falls on every tongue at sigh ot the great ocean running riot without a guiding hand; for any disturbance in nature’s orderly movements brings home to us, as nothing else can, what shadows we are and what shadow we pursue, —
… and we fools of nature,
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls.”
John Taine Click for more ino on this author