The World is Full of Poetry

Just home from a month of hiking, biking, canoeing, and eating our way through Maine with the three dogs -- a fantastic time split between Southwest Harbor and Acadia national park, Portland (our house near Cape Elizabeth and the Portland Head Light, just blocks away from Willard Beach, Scratch Bakery, and that homemade ice cream place), and the woods of ski-area Bethel, near the white mountains of New Hampshire. The entire trip was full of fantastic food (lobster, blueberry ice cream, whoopie pies -- yes -- but also excellent Thai at Boda, noodles at Pai Men Miyake, pizza at Otto's and Micucci's Italian grocery, breads from Standard Bakery, pour-overs from Tandem coffee, the incomparable Fore Street, and an outdoor farm-to-table dinner at Jordan Farm), beautiful scenery (forest, rocks, mountains, lakes), and 70 degree temperatures -- a welcome change from Florida this time of year.  Though I heard no live musical performances, the entire trip was full of musical and poetic moments -- particularly along the rocky coastline of Acadia and further north (or "downeast") Schoodic point.  The rhythm of waves against the rocks and the sounds of the same water, seagulls, buouy bells, and foghorns is unmatched and somehow resonates deep inside me.  I can't get close enough to it and, at every opportunity, have to touch the rocks, be on them and surrounded by them.  In a similar -- but much different way -- the silence of wooded paths, the rustle of leaves, the presence of my footsteps equally moves me.  I was reminded continually of James Percival Gates' words "The world is full of poetry" (used in my Earthsongs) and felt ease and comfort and grace and gratitude.