I have been in the woods of Northern Maine this week with an old friend. There's something about this time of year, at least for me. The mellow energies of late summer give way to something more urgent and pressing. It happened to me during the week. On Monday I was thinking about Peace. By Wednesday I was not interested.
It came to me at 4am this morning. I was standing on the banks of the St John River, looking north into Quebec Province. Massive forests line both banks of this waterway. (My buddy tells me you call them the North Maine Woods.) The moon was one day away from fullness. Fog hung over the forests on the northern bank. Everything was silvery with promise. Big, awe-inspiring country.
Then the word came to me: Frontier. A line of demarcation between the known and the unknown. I'll spend this week thinking about it a little more.