STILLNESS

Written 12/29/09

Everything is still in front of me, except the top of the windmill in the distance, visible above the tree line over by the canal and Mass Maritime. The empty expanse of sand in front of me is inhabited by a lone, sun bathing gull. Even she doesn’t move. The blues of the water change in the bay. Closest to shore, they’re a sun lit iridescent powder blue, taking form like a large fat V lying on its side. Filling the middle of the V are royals, ceruleans, hints of purples and grays. Only the surface moves slightly, giving the colors more definition. The boathouse on the point across the bay sits empty in winter hibernation. Snow lines the banks along its shore, still white and pure even though it’s a week old. There is no activity to muddy it up. No foot prints to mar its smooth surface. It just lies there, waiting to melt, and then refreeze. All the moorings in the bay look lonely and unattached; each one motionless and white, separate from the others. The Yacht club is closed for the season, hidden from view by stacked layers of shrink wrapped boats in dry dock. The old Victorian homes that line the shore on the far side of the beach add a pastel quirkiness to the calm of the water.

Stillness is all I see as I view this beach in winter. Stillness is all I feel. It is a different kind of calm for me – more pronounced than when I take quiet moments in my world of motion. This is quiet that permeates from the outside in; born from the stillness of the scene. Nothing moves except that windmill in the distance and the solitary gull who takes flight every now and then. My insides feel the change. They have been tranquilized naturally, just by being present here. I too have been slowed, much to my great surprise. Not fond of cold weather, I usually contract and withdraw from the elements. I realize that in doing so, I’ve missed opportunities to be quieted by the winter landscape, from the outside in. But now I know.

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