[continued from previous entry]
Have been back in Vermont for... a while now. Closing in on two weeks. Far too long. The days swing past (light, dark, rain, sun...), blurring together. Montpelier is awash with tourist traffic, vehicles sporting a rainbow-colored assortment of out-of-state plates. Occasionally, cars bearing plates from New York or New Jersey put on a scary show of ignoring traffic laws.
Rain has been a prominent feature of the weather during this warm season, people grumbling about it to the point that you'd think it's rained every single day, morning and night. When someone brings it up in conversation, I mention that the precipitation isn't frozen, there's no ice scattered about, no snow or sleet falling -- which led me to realize that some part of me is still lodged in that long winter expectation of looking out the window and seeing snowbanks, ice skids -- the relief at not finding any is so sweet that I really don't give a damn about rain, and the times of blue skies bring deep, deep pleasure.
Something I've noted lately during this period between extended field trips: all of my closest people live elsewhere. I'm good at filling the days with activity, but the difference from being off in other parts of the world where I have friends/loved ones and being here is big. Being here means lots more time spent on my own. Which is not a bad thing up to a certain point -- after that point, it gets me appreciating time spent in the company of good souls (case in point: this last Sunday, first meeting with friends up on a hillside -- conversation and sweeping views –- then meeting up with a newer friend, being driven along country two-lanes, views appearing and disappearing, me remembering how nice it is to have someone else at the wheel, allowing me to relax and enjoy warm-season Vermont).
Something else I've noticed: being in P-town woke up long-dormant sense memories of living around water, of the pleasure in the sounds, of the smells and the feel of the air, of big bodies of water being a basic part of the visuals along with the transient, unexpected moments of beauty they bring.
Now I wake up in the middle of the night, I hear no sounds of surf. I smell no salt in the air. On certain days of high humidity, the air has a softness that feels good to my skin. But it's not exactly the same.
Ah, well. Everything moves on. This will too.
España, te echo de menos
rws 6:03 PM [+]
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