Acadia
images from Acadia National Park, Maine
A smaller National Park, in terms of acreage, but hugely diverse. Many different kinds of landforms, tiny climates, small ecosystems, different soils. One could hike some of the trails across the hills and meet several different kinds of land in an afternoon. Complex geology. Cadillac Mountain a giant exposed batholith of pink granite. This used to be a mountain range here: the glaciers polished these hills smooth, exposing the granite, scraping off the top layers and rough edges. When the ice retreated and sea level rose, the coastal mountains partially submerged, becoming islands, gradually drifting off to sea.
On this day I was in a quiet, rainy-day introspective mood. The previous day had been emotionally exhausting. Maybe the quiet days after a storm should be called process recovery. I've experienced this state many times before, after a major piece of psychological or spiritual work leading to a breakthrough. Resting. Integrating.
As I drove up the coastal highway in Maine today, Highway 1, which runs from the top of Maine to the tip of Key West in Florida, I listened to rainy day mood music. I sang along with a John Dowland CD. I know many of the words to his songs—the Elizabethan blues—and I was feeling good about my own voice. Having sung again in male chorus for over a year now, I've regained some technique and skill. I liked the sound of my own voice today: good breath control, good tone. It was remarkable to feel good about my performance, rather than inadequate. Maybe it's a mark of returning self-confidence.
When I get back home, I want to record soon. To set up the studio and do some musical work. Maybe even record some Dowland. "Flow, My Tears" is a favorite song; one I know well; one I've sung for auditions.
Yesterday's emotional breaking point, which broke me, which I broke over, was another reminder to not overplan, to not have too many expectations, to go with the flow, to take things as they are. I've thought about that all day, driving. I've made some peace with my inner weather, which today is directly reflected by the outer weather.
wrapped in bands of kelp and stone
rising from the rainwet sea
after this land, after this water
another land made of water
The rain worsened later in the day. Nonetheless, I was able to get some good video and photography, by using the truck shell as a rain cover, and setting up the cameras from under its protection.
place where sea sky and mountain merge
place where mist shields stone
place where the one fades into the other
from Cadillac Mountain
the long lines of the hills dissolve
into the ocean
all gray all day all sea sky and land
the darkened trees at dusk
reveal bright lightning forks of aspen
A smaller National Park, in terms of acreage, but hugely diverse. Many different kinds of landforms, tiny climates, small ecosystems, different soils. One could hike some of the trails across the hills and meet several different kinds of land in an afternoon. Complex geology. Cadillac Mountain a giant exposed batholith of pink granite. This used to be a mountain range here: the glaciers polished these hills smooth, exposing the granite, scraping off the top layers and rough edges. When the ice retreated and sea level rose, the coastal mountains partially submerged, becoming islands, gradually drifting off to sea.
On this day I was in a quiet, rainy-day introspective mood. The previous day had been emotionally exhausting. Maybe the quiet days after a storm should be called process recovery. I've experienced this state many times before, after a major piece of psychological or spiritual work leading to a breakthrough. Resting. Integrating.
As I drove up the coastal highway in Maine today, Highway 1, which runs from the top of Maine to the tip of Key West in Florida, I listened to rainy day mood music. I sang along with a John Dowland CD. I know many of the words to his songs—the Elizabethan blues—and I was feeling good about my own voice. Having sung again in male chorus for over a year now, I've regained some technique and skill. I liked the sound of my own voice today: good breath control, good tone. It was remarkable to feel good about my performance, rather than inadequate. Maybe it's a mark of returning self-confidence.
When I get back home, I want to record soon. To set up the studio and do some musical work. Maybe even record some Dowland. "Flow, My Tears" is a favorite song; one I know well; one I've sung for auditions.
Yesterday's emotional breaking point, which broke me, which I broke over, was another reminder to not overplan, to not have too many expectations, to go with the flow, to take things as they are. I've thought about that all day, driving. I've made some peace with my inner weather, which today is directly reflected by the outer weather.
wrapped in bands of kelp and stone
rising from the rainwet sea
after this land, after this water
another land made of water
The rain worsened later in the day. Nonetheless, I was able to get some good video and photography, by using the truck shell as a rain cover, and setting up the cameras from under its protection.
place where sea sky and mountain merge
place where mist shields stone
place where the one fades into the other
from Cadillac Mountain
the long lines of the hills dissolve
into the ocean
all gray all day all sea sky and land
the darkened trees at dusk
reveal bright lightning forks of aspen
Labels: Acadia, haiku, personal essay, photography, poem, roadtrip
posted by Art Durkee at 1:23 AM
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