|Bubble Lake, Acadia National Park, ME|
Shubert carried me to Bar Harbor but Chopin lead me through the shaded roads of Acadia. Listening to their music in the car reminded me of the phases I went through with each of the classical composers as I was "discovering" them. My Schubert phase, my Chopin phase. My Dvorak phase.
On the road I alsopassed a pumpkin patch with bright orange pumpkins, surely a sign of fall. Up this far the leaves have begun to change and I could see hints of yellow and red in the green trees lining the road.
Yesterday before leaving Acadia I got to visit Bass Harbor and see one last lighthouse. I continue to be intrigued by the rhythmic sound of the ocean here. The waves don’t come in tempos, but instead are an unending sloshing against the rocky shoreline. There is no break in the melody, no pause, no breath, only a constant pulsing. In the distance I could hear a bell, not sure what it was for, I called it sea chimes.
The strange thing about traveling alone is that after the journey is over, it feels as though it never happened. Maybe when I see my friends again I won’t know what to tell them. Maybe I’ll tell them about all the conversations I overheard, and the ones I was a part of. It seems like no one was particularly interested in hearing my story, but was overflowing with the desire to tell me theirs. I might have learned more about other people on this trip than I learned about myself. On that note, I just read an interesting quote from Murakami’s first novel, Hear the Wind Sing, “Civilization is communication. That which is not expressed doesn’t exist.” So if I don’t write about this trip, if I don’t tell anyone about it, then it might as well have never happened...
- excerpt from my travel diary, September 10, 2015
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