Peace at Table Rock

In a single day;

I rested my heart on the river, and spurred it up the mountainside;

I hid in deep caves and saw the wide open;

I saw a mountain range from a bird’s-eye view and strained my neck upward to see its summit;

I was grounded on shallow rock beds and paddled through deep, black waters;

I climbed a mountain staircase barefoot and came down shod;

Valleys & Mountains

Peace is such a very rare thing in this world. Real, heart-stopping peace that fills you with itself so your mind cannot wander to the anxieties of the world and ancient woes. “Pause,” it whispers in your ear. “Pause, and see what is before you and what is before you only. There is nothing but what is here.”

I found it yesterday, at the top of Table Rock in West Bethel, Maine, where the wind feels as if it will blow you off the cracked stone. I held the man I love there, and later adventured with him for three hours on the Androscoggin River.

Head into the woods, climb a mountain with your bare feet, and look into golden waters that shine clear and shallow in the sunlight. There you will find peace.

Ridiculous, curious, most likely delirious.

I love a great story, whether it comes in the form of words or visual stimuli. I believe everyone has a story to tell, and I love to share mine.

Please feel free to read along, comment, share your own stories, or send me a message via the contact page. Thanks for your time reading my words.

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polaroid 6/15/13

sailboat

Today was an adventure. It mainly consisted of excellent conversations and enjoyment of the summer sun. Part of the day involved the use of a lucky $4 Polaroid camera I discovered at Goodwill. We went to Pinecone & Chickadee and I found some black and white film. This is one of the photos I took and then scanned. I hope you enjoy it.

[ c. e. p. ]

Ridiculous, curious, most likely delirious.

I love a great story, whether it comes in the form of words or visual stimuli. I believe everyone has a story to tell, and I love to share mine.

Please feel free to read along, comment, share your own stories, or send me a message via the contact page. Thanks for your time reading my words.

Continue Reading

Maine

Forested avenues line the city’s neighborhoods. Trees in summer hang over brick sidewalks, dipping passersby in New England charm and cool shadow. Duplexes of brick, with old tall pointed roofs and many windows, sit on State Street; they have been in the neighborhood since the 1700s. The hill slopes downward, into the land and away from the sea, down off the highest streets toward the park’s edge, where the glistening fountain waits there.

Ridiculous, curious, most likely delirious.

I love a great story, whether it comes in the form of words or visual stimuli. I believe everyone has a story to tell, and I love to share mine.

Please feel free to read along, comment, share your own stories, or send me a message via the contact page. Thanks for your time reading my words.

Continue Reading