The Light that got Lost


We listened to a reading on the marginal worlds, of which I took this photo to illustrate. As soon as I find the passage online I’ll post it here, but I remember the idea that everyday, each shoreline changes. One day the sea may have a little more of the land, and the next the land may take itself back. I’ve been thinking about the interaction between the sea and the land, and the ocean as its own entity. I hope that it never stops making me think and wonder and marvel.


“The world is blue at its edges and in its depths. This blue is the light that got lost. Light at the end blue end of the spectrum does not travel the whole distance from the sun to us. It disperses among the molecules of the air, it scatters in the water. Water is colorless, shallow water appears to be the color of whatever lies underneath it, but deep water is full of this scattered light, the purer the water the deeper the blue.

The sky is blue for the same reason, but the blue at the horizon, the blue of the land that seems to be dissolving into the sky, is a deeper, dreamier, melancholy blue, the blue at the farthest reaches of the places where you see for miles, the blue of distance. This light does not touch us, does not travel the whole distance, the light that gets lost, gives us the beauty of the world, so much of which is in the color blue.”


From journal 6/2:

I didn’t fully understand how I felt about the Vinalhaven community until our visit to hurricane island. The island was beautiful, the landscape was just like Vinalhaven, but all of the people were long gone. I didn’t feel compelled to stay there, in that amazing house on the top of the hill, all alone. It’s not the landscape alone that makes the community, and it’s not the people alone that make the place. You can’t separate the two. The landscape and the people define each other. And that’s Vinalhaven.


From journal 6/2:

Today I feel different. Different than I’ve ever felt on my last day at a place that isn’t home. I always love travel, but there’s this thing about deadlines that I can’t help but anxiously look forward to. I’m a planner, and it’s hard for me to just let myself be somewhere without anticipating leaving. But today I feel calm, and like for once, I don’t want to leave this place that isn’t home. If I said I wasn’t looking forward to it a little, that would be a lie. But I think I finally let myself just be here and be happy. And I hope that the next time I travel I can be this way, be this open to new people and new experiences. I guess I like who I am in Maine.



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