We'd climbed all the major mountains of Acadia National Park proper, hiked all the major trails, so yesterday we decided to go on an adventure. Isle au Haut, an outpost of Acadia in Penobscot Bay, a hundred mile round-trip from the house in Tremont, our destination, we got up early, we drove, we missed the morning ferry by ten minutes because I misjudged the time it would take to get to Stonington where the ferry launches and returns. We ate breakfast at
walked around town, clouds rushed in, temperature dropped twenty, rained poured, we - in nothing but t-shirts and short pants - lucked out, weren't stranded wet and cold on slick hiking trails of wet granite bedrock on an island without shelter with six hours to wait for a boat. Will try again next year, the island.
It's foggy right now as I type this, rained all night. The sun will burn the fog (▲, just now from my porch), not supposed to rain again until tonight, I assume the wet will evaporate from the bedrock, there will be a hike today, how ambitious I don't know, wet-wise: descents here in slippery conditions are not worth the chance. My knees needed yesterday off, my body - and my Dark, which is aching if no longer panging - need be beaten to exhaustion today. Will resume googling non-Acadia alternatives as soon as I plunge publish. This plant - what is it? - across the road from Oddfellows:
- A bleggal suicide note. Best wishes to Steerforth.
- John Negroponte endorses Clinton to Clinton's delight.
- Why is Hillary bragging about this endorsement?
- This to ▲ & ▲. Saves me the yodeling.
- Something - among many - MOST! -things Trump and Clinton have in common.
- Trump employing Clintonian rhetoric to coopt SCOTUS.
- A review of Lucia Berlin's excellent short story collection.
- Allegro non troposphere.
- Bulgarian Bee.
- I finished - I felt obligated to finish since I publicly started - Whitehead's Underground Railroad. It's - perhaps it's my permacynicism & my autocynicism, the taint of the Oprah Bookclub tag, the feeling it was written to be discussed over coffee and scones - fuckawful. It told me nothing new and, worse, it told me nothing new in the oldest of cliches. Truly shitty.
- Quick - suggest a novel I've never heard of I can download and read on my iPad, a novel I will love even if I hate reading it on the iPad.
- Poetry is #trending?
- K now in A-Z title scroll on drive-around soundtrack:
PITY ASCENDING WITH THE FOG
He has no past and he certainly
has no future. All the important
events were ending shortly before
they began. He says he told mama
earth what he would not accept: and I
keep thinking it has something to do
with her world. Nights expanding into
enormous parachutes of fire, his
eyes were little more than mercury.
Or sky-diving in the rain where there
was obvious no land beneath,
half-dead fish surfacing all over
his body. He knew all this too well.
And she who might at anytime be
saying the word that would embrace all
he had let go, he let go of course.
I think the pain for him will end in
May or January, though the weather
is far too clear for me to think of
anything but august comedy.