In Brooklin, Maine, at Dusk on July 10, 2016
There are times here when the elements make visual music the way a great chamber quartet makes aural music – intuitively following leads, changing rhythm, playing together, playing alone, creating something that is both natural and supernatural. Such times here are not rare, but they are unusual, brief, and almost always beautiful.
One of these times materialized, ghost-like, in the early evening after several days of gloomy storms. As the rain gradually stopped, the wind died down to a mere hint, and the sky over Great Cove began to clear slightly in the southwest. The sun arced slowly behind a thick bank of clouds in the west, backlighting that still-overcast area of the sky. The sea, at ebb, was remarkably still. As the overcast thinned, shafts of white sunlight pierced the clouds to paint the Cove in silver streaks.
Boats stood calm in the Cove, waiting to be stroked by the diffused light when it reached them. As it did, the almost-motionless grace of the boats became a fixed halo over their dancing reflections. Then, the silver light searched elsewhere.
It was the kind of moment that would make J.M.W. Turner smile.
Meanwhile, fingers of shadow spread within the very wet woods, fields, and gardens bordering the glowing sea. Some of the flowers had been ravaged by the storms, exposing the almost-erotic beauty of their disturbed centers to the lowering light. It was the kind of moment that would make Georgia O'Keefe smile.
Other flowers bejeweled themselves with captured raindrops as the light disappeared.
As darkness won its daily fight, the sky cleared and stars appeared. The next morning, we awoke to a sunny dawn, blue skies, and a Cove that was rollicking in a stiff breeze.
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Barbara and Dick