Midnight Hole. It is the perfect swimming hole to me for many reasons. First of all, there is the color of the water. It is emerald at the base of the falls, white bubbles boiling up all around. The water is perfectly clear and so so cold. It takes your breath and makes you feel alive. The jump is high enough to be exciting, to makes you pause a second to think it over. I always get a little queasy before I jump because of the overwhelming coldness of the water. The whole place is surrounded by the tangle of rhododendron that is so characteristic of the south and very nostalgic for me. We left too quickly this time. It calms my heart there, and I wanted to stay until it got dark, but we had to get back. It was clear and I thought the stars would be out.
In Maine at night, the best place is to go down to the dock. In the new moon, I saw the entire Milky Way swept across the sky haphazardly as smoke. There is no light pollution so the brightness of the stars is almost overwhelming. I find myself shrinking down a little in my own skin because of the vast weight of it. Too many stars to count, no trees to obstruct the view. At night, the wind calms down and the lake stills into a mirror and reflects them all. There are several loons on the lake and they call out at night. I like to wait on the dock until the loons chime in. It's a noise I identify with very strongly, there is a certain beautiful, depth and loneliness to it. It sort of calls out and builds like that song Claire de Lune, singular notes trilling upward in the same way. They make me feel the same stirring, the song and the bird call.
I think the thing that was hard for me about the book All the Light We Can See is that the German soldier was never quite redeemed. His life was of appeasement and lies, then he became that and then he died. It was about a beautiful soul lost. He realized his mistake in the end but was never redeemed. In my version, he would have been redeemed, the shattered pieces of him gathered and put back together by the love of this blind woman. More poignant and resonant for me, this idea of revival and redemption.
In Maine at night, the best place is to go down to the dock. In the new moon, I saw the entire Milky Way swept across the sky haphazardly as smoke. There is no light pollution so the brightness of the stars is almost overwhelming. I find myself shrinking down a little in my own skin because of the vast weight of it. Too many stars to count, no trees to obstruct the view. At night, the wind calms down and the lake stills into a mirror and reflects them all. There are several loons on the lake and they call out at night. I like to wait on the dock until the loons chime in. It's a noise I identify with very strongly, there is a certain beautiful, depth and loneliness to it. It sort of calls out and builds like that song Claire de Lune, singular notes trilling upward in the same way. They make me feel the same stirring, the song and the bird call.
I think the thing that was hard for me about the book All the Light We Can See is that the German soldier was never quite redeemed. His life was of appeasement and lies, then he became that and then he died. It was about a beautiful soul lost. He realized his mistake in the end but was never redeemed. In my version, he would have been redeemed, the shattered pieces of him gathered and put back together by the love of this blind woman. More poignant and resonant for me, this idea of revival and redemption.
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