Blue Mists

This post is part of a series contributed by DRA Trustee Barnaby Porter. Read the previous post here.

A blissful swoon of timelessness

I never count the days as summer wanes. The living’s too good, too easy, to allow for that way of passing time. No, counting summer days is not something people should do, when it’s much more soothing to forget what day it is altogether, to slip into that blissful swoon of timelessness measured only by sweeping oars and buttered ears of corn.

Instead, I count the layered hills that rest behind blue mists, and even then I’m not so careful about it, because how many there are is not important. What matters is only that there are so many colors, blue. There seems to be a shade for every hill, a blue for every distance, and what day it is hardly makes a difference.

I was standing on the shore, trying to point out a place downriver. My companion, taking in the view, was bemoaning his two weeks were nearly up, and he’d have to leave tomorrow. But he quickly abandoned such unthoughtly thoughts as he beheld the shades of blue.

“You see that darkest ridge,” I said, “where the sun is beaming down? Well, look three hues farther on where the island’s showing through the mist. Right along that shore is a damned good place to fish.”

“You know?” he said. “Standing here, with summer all around, I’d rather forget what day it is and just count the colors, blue.”

Artist and author Barnaby Porter has had a varied career in marine research, aquaculture, and woodworking, among others. Most recently he partnered with his wife Susan as co-owners of the Maine Coast Book Shop & Cafe in downtown Damariscotta. Barnaby currently serves on DRA’s Board of Trustees. For more about Barnaby, click here.