Sunday, December 14, 2014
Places That Aren't There Anymore
I've been thinking about this view. It's a place that isn't there anymore. There are a lot of those, as you get older you accumulate them, and this is one of mine, the inlet on the Miles River on the Chesapeake Bay on which my grandparents' farm was located before the land was bought up by a very wealthy lawyer from New Jersey, and the old farm house razed to make his mansion.
Peace be unto the lawyers from New Jersey. I mean that.
I appreciate all lessons in letting go.
Before the place belonged to me, it belonged to others, and to others before them, and before that to people who didn't believe that one could own land, and before them to animals, probably. I'm sure there were foxes. For awhile, though, it was mine. I knew every inch as a familiar face.
After I got married I swam in the water right in the frame of this photo taken by my talented artist cousin and the water was aglow with phosphorescent ctenophores that bumped my bare legs like animate bits of Jell-o. I had had a lot of Champagne. More Champagne than cake.
My uncle was taking people out for joy rides on the catamaran. In retrospect, that was stupid and dangerous. But no one was hurt and the next day only a few people wore that guilty look they wear after there is a lot of dancing. But there is no shame in it. I had asked everybody to wear hats for heavens sake, and 98% did.
I like the water in this photo. Soft as a feather from the breast of a bluebird. It's just as I remember it at sunset. I can dip my hand into this water any time I like. That's the beauty of places that aren't there anymore, you can't go back, but they're there always in your mind.