The metamorphic rock at Pemaquid Point slowly being eroded into the Gulf of Maine. Before it was turned to gneiss underground 400 million years ago, it was itself a product of erosion as sedimentary rock. Click on the image for a larger view.
The clarity of the atmosphere in the winter is striking. The horizon, that line dividing the sky from the water, is like a knife edge—a demarcation of our world. There is a magnetism to that unknown over the horizon. Yet, the unknown below the surface of the water ties us to the land. Click on the image for a larger view.
On a moonlit night at Pemaquid Point, two figures look out to sea. A soft wind presses against their bodies. The rhythm of breaking waves fills the air. “I would love to spend the rest of my life searching for beauty,” whispers the woman to the man.
We imagine the end of the day along the coast having the fiery reds of a sunset. But water, whether liquid or vapor, is a conjuror of color. When the sun is blocked at the horizon, color transmutes into something magical. Click on the image for a larger view.
With temperatures climbing above freezing and a rare sunny day, Naomi and I went to Pemaquid Point this weekend. While the weather was mild, the ocean swells were dynamic. Monhegan Island can be seen on the horizon. Click on the image for a larger view.
Naomi and I went out to Pemaquid Point on late on Sunday to watch the storm swells. While the place is always the same—the land sliding into the water which stretches out until it meets the sky at the horizon—it is always hypnotic.