Discovering Sea Glass Far From the Beach

This image was made last summer, maybe July or August? It’s now a mid-March promise of the warmth that lies ahead, and maybe even a reflection upon the duality of it all — life, people, nature — all of it.

This particular stretch of water is out at the mouth of Penobscot Bay, really on the inner edge of the Gulf of Maine, which, basically, means the North Atlantic. Cold, unforgiving water, the scene of monumental storms, with challenge and death ever close at hand.

Yet here it is in a rare moment of apparent rest, of sublime quiet.

The bay does not often look like this, there is usually abundant evidence of immense energy in action — birds, wind, waves, tide, fish, boats, and so on.

I was alone on RAVEN this day and I was steaming right along, going somewhere east in a hurry, and I was in open water, with nothing to concern me — nothing to hit and she was running fine.

Up on the flybridge I let my mind rest and I immediately became more present to that exact place and moment. I had no choice — I shut her down and just gave myself up to the wonder of it all.

All this beauty and quiet.

Yet the immensity of the present energy was overwhelming; solar power firing into the meteorological moment above me, as billions of gallons of water streamed into the bay on the tide running under me.

Only water and light.




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