We drove up the auto road in Camden Hills State Park. I will never, ever, ever, EVER tire of that jewel-box view, from the mountaintop, of Camden’s cove and outer islands. White sailboats tipping on blue water, tall church steeples--and the words of poet Edna St. Vincent Millay, the redhead raised in town.
Skipper scrambled down the side of the mountain in her cuffed blue denim shorts, black midriff, black sneakers. She was out of sight for maybe 15 minutes, but I trusted she would be okay, and there she came, climbing back up over the boulders. She is a strong young woman.
While she was gone, I sat and breathed, deep breaths. Serenity Prayer. And birthday wishes flung to a friend.
But I am tired now, and it’s not even eight o’clock--I hope not too tired to wash my face and take off my mascara.
Good night to you. Tomorrow we head to Acadia, where our dear NYC friends Celia and Greg just happen to be visiting.
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Wow, you have been moving and grooving this summer. So glad you are seeing your girls strength, it will make it easier to watch her do hard things. Do love how you love new england...enjoy!
ReplyDeleteYes, Liz, seeing Skippy’s can-do spirit is a gift. Sending love.
DeleteI’m so glad your writing inspired me to go there too. We spent quite a bit of time at the top admiring the view. Superb and restoring.
ReplyDeleteAnd I’m so happy you are there too! And your Skippy can experience it, too.
Xoxo
Nan, I was thinking of you and your friends going there. So glad you read about it on my blog and went. Restorative, yes, as you say. I wish I could go there every day but instead must bottle up the memory. Love Alice
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