Here’s the money shot from Bass Harbor:
It’s beautiful, but I am discombobulated. We have rented a home full of books — books waiting for me like a lost love. I just finished reading Terry Tempest Williams’ Refuge. And now, I am reading books about the significance of Place, Carl Gustav Jung, Proust and walking the roads with Buck, smelling the herbal smell of Loupaus Road and the Back Beach. The light, the early light, makes it impossible to sleep late (as if I ever could).
Our experience with the long lost relatives was Homeric. I have been reading and studying the art and concept of memoir; and now I have experienced the raw pouring out of the heart from which memoir is potted via the searing kiln of pain.
It takes awhile to process all of this.