Instead, I have been kind of lost in thought this morning. As a little boy, I would often be down the shore in the late autumn months - a time when the air has a chill in it, the breeze is unpredictable, and the sea birds are making the best of their last chances before winter comes. The sky is usually brilliant blue and for the first time in many months, without humid haze, letting you see as far as you can see.
I would sit on a blanket high on the beach on the sand dune - the cool sand contrasting with the warmth of the sun in my face while wearing a sweatshirt and shorts and just look out into the water. The gulls would wheel about in the sky calling to each other and on occasion, a person or two perhaps with their dog, would walk by down in the sand made firm and wet by the waves - the wind blowing up at irregular intervals would momentarily upset the birds in flight and tug at the hats the people wore.
The sound of the surf at low tide would be gentle, the crash of the water muted, and the gurgle of the water running up and down the beach soft and soothing. Migrating sandpipers would scamper along the edge of the water, trying to keep from getting wet.
The sun would shine on the water, and its rippling brilliance would be too intense to look at for long, so the eye would wander away from that and perhaps see sailboats, late season fishing boats, and ships making their way to and from where ever they were going. As I sat there growing more and more sleepy, I would look to the horizon and think to myself, what would I see if I could see all the way across to the other side?
Later, I would learn from my Dad that the country of Spain was directly across the ocean, with England and Ireland off to the left, and Iceland even further to the left. The Rock of Gibraltar would be just to the right, and the wide expanses of the Sahara Desert (filled with camels in my imagination at the time) with tribes of Pygmies in the forests a little further to the right. Africa also had Elephants, Rhinos and the stray Lion or too.
I would usually fall into a sound untroubled sleep after looking across the ocean and seeing that everything that was supposed to be there (as I imagined it) was in its proper place. Sometimes a pygmy bearing a shield and spear would be looking back at me - and wave.
While walking yesterday I was thinking about the stars overhead at night. I've often been in places blessed with nearly complete darkness, the Florida Keys for one, and have laid on my back looking up at them - just drinking in their splendor. I would note the brightest stars as they seem to seek out attention, but let them go into the whole of the sky.
I almost always marvel at how many of them their are and how many I can be looking at - but cannot see. The vast dome of the night sky makes me feel most insignificant. The huge number of stars separated by the huge distances staggers my mind and my feeble ability to hold them in place and examine them. Unlike the beach, where I can imagine what I would see, if I could but see far enough - I cannot do this with the evening sky. My thoughts usually tumble into fragments and I end up wondering why I am here - what is my insignificant role in all of this?
I end up thinking I often look without seeing - but settle myself with knowing, looking without seeing is an everyday thing for me. I can look at a person and not truly see them - the sense of sight does not let me know what thoughts are running through their minds - and the variety of such thoughts might well be as numerous as the stars, ranging from, "does my dog really like the brand of pet food I get them?", "should I dye my hair?", "this traffic really sucks today", to the more elegant ones such as "Oh! 2003 was a good year for this wine" to "the Cubs won again and that will make someone happy."
I apologize to those of you that wanted to "go" to Maine - and for the length of this stream of semi-conscious babble.
