the fall by the sea

[eor]

I put on my boots, grab my mp3 player, and head out to the shore. The air is crisp and tinged with the smell of dead leaves.

I park in the parking lot of my favorite waterside spot. It is an unusually clear day. I can see all the islands and lighthouses off shore. And further off on the horizon I can see the large boats waiting for the tide and their turn to enter the harbor. It is fairly early in the day for a Saturday so there aren't many people about, a few moms with young kids and that's about it.

The strong scent of decay, death, with a touch of raw sewage hits me head on. The tide is out. I trudge down over the piles of stranded seaweed past the upturned empty shells of seagulls' meals. At dead low tide there is a tiny patch of sand here or there among the round rocks that make up the "beach". Maine doesn't have much for sandy beaches.

I head across to the left and climb onto the larger rocks that form most of the coastline. Jumping from rock to rock I begin to work my way out to the point to the left. I used to go across the rocks in sneakers at a dead run. But today the awkwardness of boots that aren't broken in and stiffness makes careful small jumps precarious at best. The spot on my right heal is screaming with indignant passion. I work my way out along the rocks, some loose boulders, some long ledges.

When I reach the end I stop, looking out over the sea, a twenty foot drop to the cold lapping water in the next step. The sun is warm, the sea is a dark blue that speaks of cold, the higher rocks are bright in the sunlight, while the lower ones are dark with moss and rough barnacles.

I turn up and climb to the top of the point where the relics of past years' wars stand in mute testament to man's intrusion here. I climb down the stairs and walk back toward the beach along the path. Wildflowers abound, along with berries. Berries that no bird has touched, which probably means no human should either. I hear, then see, a plumb, bright, bluejay having a huge breakfast of seeds in an evergreen tree. He looks as happy as a glutton at a Chinese buffet. After watching him hop around for a while I turn and head on, crossing above the beach to the other side.

I run along the remaining bits of cement from yesteryear's constructions. Then, when they run out, switch to the old piece of train rail. On a better day I might be able to make it all the way to the end, but today balance and shoes leave me hopping off to the rocks below. Three attempts prove it wasn't just a fluke. The rail wobbles back and forth, chuckling to itself beneath the rust.

I have gone around the entire park at high tide level before, but today I decide to head up to the paths along the top of the cliffs. I cut through the brush, following a trail that only kids and rabbit could negotiate easily. The path from here heads out to the point opposite the one I just left. This side is higher.

Whenever I'm on that trail I'm always tempted to run. It's just such a perfect trail to run, twisting and turning along with one shoulder in the bushes, the other shoulder next to a thirty foot drop onto the rocks below. Like a horse seeing a train, I pick up my boots and go. By the time I reach the crest of the hill overlooking the lighthouse my heart is racing, my legs are lead.

I walk down past the lighthouse, through the tourists that are now beginning to congregate and take pictures. On the other side of the lighthouse I regain my breath. I look up and see rays of sunlight streaming through the middle of a large cloud like something from a religious painting.

I leap the fence, not in one graceful bound because faceplanting on pitted granite is not a fun thing, but in the standard up and over two step fashion. I land on the rock opposite and run down across the ledges until I reach a precipice which I can't leap across. I sit down on the rock and dangle my feet over the sea.

I watch the sea for a while. Down there the cold water swirls around the seaweed, barnacles, and rough rock.

Then get up and continue along the rocks to the end of the park. When I emerge onto the paths and mowed areas the tourists are getting thicker. I walk back up over the hill that is the most direct route back to the lower parking area. As the song says, I've had enough.

Thankfully, the van starts.

I'm not a mystical kind of person, but this place has always been magical to me. From the first time I saw it, it stirred my soul.