Seizing ‘stopfulness’ from the solstice
Out on Spruce Point winter has settled in early. The homes along Grandview Avenue peer from the snowdrifts like hibernating bears and the spruces that were draped in ermine a few days ago are now as spare and tall as the ship’s masts they once furnished for the Royal British fleet.
Winter mornings near the solstice are still and quiet. Perhaps the one moment when a photograph is the same as video – a frozen moment in time where the late-rising sun of dawn is the color of rose gold. The silence allows for ‘stopfulness’ – that opportunity to stop and observe with all your senses, including the internal monitor that senses the passage of time. As the cold, still air surrounds you and your eyes cast out to the distant horizon, that recorder plays back against the wall of your mind the memories of the past year and former years. In that moment, it seems we somehow set the precious stones of those memories into the framework we will find the next time such an opportunity presents itself.
And then the sturdy chug of a lobster boat breaks the reverie. And, on the day that brings ‘the shortest evening of the year,’ we, too, set the throttle to the work of the day, stamping the snow off our boots, pour more steaming coffee into the cup that warms our hands and count the promises still left to keep, along with our blessings.
- Coming around to apples
- Framing September in caramel light
- Boothbay Harbor golf links to history
- Palawan sails in with priceless memories
- August Amber
- Happy birthday, Boothbay!
- 400 years of corn, ocean and moonlight
- Maine lobsters salute you
- A sense of Wyeth’s place in Maine
- Finding serenity in light house keeping