One of the things I love about exploring more of my time at The Inn in winter is that, though just three hours north of the town we’ve called home since 1993, the light is different here.
I know it is a combination of things, not the least of which is being on the coast… also I hear Moose are particularly reflect-y.
The fact that we have a house here is still a synchronic happenstance whose acceptance, by me, ought to be labeled ‘flight risk’. It’s as if I haven’t consented to this tangible truth taking up residence deep down in my core.
Yep, even though we bought it and then took more than a decade to restore it – pretty much literally – from the ground up, the fact that we have a house on the coast of Maine is a very flighty tangible truth, given to taking off at a whim and begging me to give chase.
Thing is, the only way to actually catch it is to get all still (turns out some truths startle easily). Once it approaches again, perching wherever it feels safe, I am in the position of re-discovering it. And oh that feeling.
Never gets old.
On mornings here, in winter, the world can be so full of blacks and whites and greys that it actually feels like color is on vacation.
Honestly, right down to the evergreen trees, Hue and Tone and Chromacity jumped into the convertible and skedaddled to Florida with the rest of the snowbirds. I find myself believing this delusion enough that I actually experience a bit of anxiety, wondering if I’ll have to wait until Tax Day to see them all again.
Each photo I take of this phenomenon looks as if I’ve used a special setting, or edited it on purpose to black and white. The photo above is what I saw outside my window, just as I was grabbing my camera so I could show it to you. That is truly as much color as I saw, or didn’t see.
It’s like living in my grandmother’s photographs, the ones that prompted me to ask her if the world was in color when she was young. Only here there is more fog, and also boats.
Makes me realize that, whether fully bloomed in color, or cast in shades and shadows of blacks and whites, it is so beautiful here.
And serves as a palpable reminder, too…
Whether I’m in a period of ease and joy and seemingly unceasing light and color…
Or dealing with tough stuff that seems capable of draining life-sustaining pigment from the microcosm of me…
Or in that much more common mix of the two, see-sawing back and forth as I, along with so many others in this nutty world, lurch for balance…
No matter what, there is still grace, still love, and still cosmically-bestowed artistry to be realized (even if we have to get all still, so we are perch-able).
And things can change on a dime too…
As I type, the sun just came out.
The water is blue.
The evergreens a deep green sprayed here and there with glops of white snow.
Rose hips are showing off with orange-y red.
And I’m going to get my camera.
Thanks for readin’
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