October is a bittersweet passage of time. The last balmy breezes of summer have
disappeared, replaced by cold winds that swirl off the ocean and sweep down the streets of town. The sun, once alive at 8, now sets at 6 and rises past 7. Waking up early brings no light, just a quiet darkness that hangs overt the morning like a dreary mist. Winter is on its way. The leaves have
fallen, the birds are flying south, and the summer houses are boarded up. Yet, in all it's fading glory, October is a month full of brilliant light. It is a light that can be seen on a sunny afternoon in Blue Hill, a light that commences a stirring sunrise over the
Penobscot Bay, or a light that leads to a quiet dusk over Marshall Point Light and the sleepy town of Port Clyde. October is a month where the afternoons can drift by slowly, a lazy sense of wonder
surrounding the fields, mountains and beaches, or it can be a month where 50 mph winds gust and
stinging sheets of rain pound on your windows day and night. In town, the stores stay open, but the summer crowds have dispersed. You see the same
familiar faces now, not hordes of families, cell phones at their ears, window shopping down Elm street. School Buses have replaced out of state plates and all but a few sailboats remain at their moorings. The other day on a radio station I listen to they had a contest, where the
first prize was 10 cord of wood! That
valuable prize served as a friendly reminder that I do live in Northern New England, where the winter months hold sway over each and every year. The oil trucks seem to be on every corner and baseball caps have given way to wool and fleece hats. On a morning walk towards
Rockport, I can still feel a slight sense of warmth as a ray of sunlight finds it's way through a leaf ridden tree, but just as soon as that ray of sunlight hits me, it is gone, taken over by a gray cloud. That ray will return periodically
throughout the day, but it no longer has the staying power that it once had in the dog days of July and August. An old teacher of mine used to joke that all boys, and men for that matter, hate change. I still like to think of myself as a boy, even at 27. I do hate change, but I know that change is going to happen no matter how hard you fight against it,
especially in the when it comes to weather. If I really wanted to fight against it, I would have moved to Florida by now! There are no moving vans in my future, and the light, that special October light, will return next year. The bitter will be sweet once again.
October is a bittersweet passage of time. The last balmy breezes of summer have disappeared, replaced by cold winds that swirl off the ocean and sweep down the streets of town. The sun, once alive at 8, now sets at 6 and rises past 7. Waking up early brings no light, just a quiet darkness that hangs overt the morning like a dreary mist. Winter is on its way. The leaves have fallen, the birds are flying south, and the summer houses are boarded up. Yet, in all it's fading glory, October is a month full of brilliant light. It is a light that can be seen on a sunny afternoon in Blue Hill, a light that commences a stirring sunrise over the Penobscot Bay, or a light that leads to a quiet dusk over Marshall Point Light and the sleepy town of Port Clyde. October is a month where the afternoons can drift by slowly, a lazy sense of wonder surrounding the fields, mountains and beaches, or it can be a month where 50 mph winds gust and stinging sheets of rain pound on your windows day and night. In town, the stores stay open, but the summer crowds have dispersed. You see the same familiar faces now, not hordes of families, cell phones at their ears, window shopping down Elm street. School Buses have replaced out of state plates and all but a few sailboats remain at their moorings. The other day on a radio station I listen to they had a contest, where the first prize was 10 cord of wood! That valuable prize served as a friendly reminder that I do live in Northern New England, where the winter months hold sway over each and every year. The oil trucks seem to be on every corner and baseball caps have given way to wool and fleece hats. On a morning walk towards Rockport, I can still feel a slight sense of warmth as a ray of sunlight finds it's way through a leaf ridden tree, but just as soon as that ray of sunlight hits me, it is gone, taken over by a gray cloud. That ray will return periodically throughout the day, but it no longer has the staying power that it once had in the dog days of July and August. An old teacher of mine used to joke that all boys, and men for that matter, hate change. I still like to think of myself as a boy, even at 27. I do hate change, but I know that change is going to happen no matter how hard you fight against it, especially in the when it comes to weather. If I really wanted to fight against it, I would have moved to Florida by now! There are no moving vans in my future, and the light, that special October light, will return next year. The bitter will be sweet once again.
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