Fish Shacks at Willard Beach South Portland, Maine

It was cold. Below zero with a fierce wind blowing the sea smoke out to sea.Thermal underwear. Down jackets (notice the plural). Snow overalls. Impeccable boots. Heavy insulated socks. Rechargeable hand warmers set on high in the pockets of my third jacket layer. Neck Gator. Hat. Check.

But epic fail of forgetting the thin gloves I use in combination with the pocket warmers to get through a morning like this.

It's not that I didn't know what to expect.

By the time I tried to frame a few images the bitter cold was no longer cold. It was pain. Sheer pain pounding up to my wrists.

The other photographer out there at the same time attempting to be friendly? I apologize. I was in such pain I could no longer see. I could no longer think. I didn't have the bandwith to even be kind. I needed to get to my car asap.

The lesson. Pain evaporated my ability to see. Evaporated my ability to respond to kindness.

I raced to the car best I could and cried and cried and cried waiting for the pain to subside. Which it did.

And I am left with this lesson.

Color happens. Color I could not see when I had my head buried in a paint box.

Color happens. Color I could not see when I had my head buried in a paint box. 

And so it is. Sunrise one minute later than yesterday. And it continues each day...

And so it is. Sunrise one minute later than yesterday. And it continues each day. Do the math over a week. A month. And even though the sun is way over there closer to north than seems possible, I turn and look south east and place a marker in my memory of it's location in December. Every taste of summer includes this breath of winter. Every breath of winter holds this taste of roses on a summer breeze.

Shy of Solstice

The beloved's beauty
Has pierced your heart,
And that's it's purpose-
That's the point of it.
-Gregory Orr

Shy of Solstice

This time of year. Of closing my eyes before the sun leaves the sky...

This time of year. Of closing my eyes before the sun leaves the sky. And opening them to watch you return. Is it you who serenades me or is it the reverse? 

So close to solstice. 4:15 AM.

So close to solstice. 4:15 AM. 

I stopped on the exit ramp. Emergency lights on. I never once thought about the dangers...

I stopped on the exit ramp. Emergency lights on. I never once thought about the dangers if my skin were dark. Or if I were a young man in a hoodie doing the same damn thing. That that would totally change the equation. I jump out and photograph and jump back into my white car. Into my white privilege.

It's foggy, they predicted. Low visibility, they said. Cloudy, they wrote...

It's foggy, they predicted.
Low visibility, they said.
Cloudy, they wrote.

'Surprise!', you said.

The beloved has such a sense of humor.

Dawned on Me

'If to say it once
And once only, then still
To say: Yes.

And say it complete,
Say it as if the word
Filled the whole moment
With its absolute meaning.

Later for 'but,'
Later for 'if.'

Now
Only the single syllable
That is the beloved,
That is the world.
-Gregory Orr

Dawned on Me

Play. Ground. Playground. Groundplay.

Play. Ground. Playground. Groundplay.

With a headful of nothing and a heart like a stone. Falmouth Harbor, Falmouth, Maine.

With a headful of nothing and a heart like a stone. Falmouth Harbor, Falmouth, Maine.

Just for what it was worth.

Just for what it was worth.

I hope there's as much upset now a white man takes a knee.

I hope there's as much upset now a white man takes a knee.

The difference was, I could breath. And this. Leaves me. Gasping.

The difference was, I could breath.
And this. Leaves me. Gasping.

What did they have to leave behind...

What did they have to leave behind. What trauma, what desperation drove them to nearly die to cross this boundary with little hope of being received. What fire was on their ass to make going toward death the right option?

Before I could get too far you had me racing forward and then lurching...

Before I could get too far you had me racing forward and then lurching so I could stop and say 'Oh.' Oh. Said like a long, slow exhalation that expelled any egoic gas.

I often wonder where else I should be ? But then, I ignore that thought.

I often wonder where else I should be ? But then, I ignore that thought.

Oh, Kingfisher. I didn't have the lens with me, nor likely the skill or timing to record your gift...

Oh, Kingfisher. I didn't have the lens with me, nor likely the skill or timing to record your gift. The way you flew above the cove and suspended yourself in midair 50 feet above the water and hung there like an oversized hummingbird at a feeder. Wings flapping madly, ironically, to sustain your silent position in space as your head and beak point down to the water, to your target, from the vertical frame of your torso. Then the sudden lightning bolt dive into the water. There's no other word for it. A strike. And you are completely submerged. You disappear. Your entry sends out concentric circles along the cove surface and then you rise out of it. Oh, to really be able to see that moment ...a bird thrusting itself upward out of the water. You fly wings beating fast again to the shore. To a branch above the edge. Beyond where I can see. Oh, Kingfisher.

To my godmother, who mothered me in ways my own mom could not. And I say that without blame, resentment or hurt...

To my godmother, who mothered me in ways my own mom could not. And I say that without blame, resentment or hurt. Love on all sides of this equation. But, you taught me the bliss of the smell and texture of home baked bread before it was cool to bake homemade bread, in the Age of Wonder Bread. You were a kitchen magician to me, assembling things of value out of what seemed like thin air and a dust of flour. Your pantry was a sanctuary filled with baking supplies, pans, tools,provisions and possibility. Being within it's little closet like space I felt held. And that was a lot.
You would sit in the corner bay of windows in your living room hand shirring cotton dresses for your daughters. How I envied them. Your door was always open to me, the latch key kid, frightened by thunderstorms and the sound of a telephone ringing into an empty house. And yup, I never got to tell you what you meant to me. As so often happens in my life. As so often happens in our lives. And I realize today is your birthday. Happy Birthday, Aunt Madelaine. You rocked my world in such good ways.

On the cheek of the western sky I saw your planetary blush.

On the cheek of the western sky I saw your planetary blush.