Tonight’s evening sky tempted me to try something new.
These are, obviously, just pictures of clouds.
Except maybe for this one?
It looks like violent weather is approaching, not unusual for this time of the year.
Close Up
Category: Nature
Messmore Cliffs (Hemlock Cliffs VI)
A bit north of the Arrowhead Arch are tall and very steep cliffs, the Messmore cliffs. Above is a look from the top.
And this is how they look from below.
To get there (unless you have a rope and know how to rappel), follow the derelict forest road on the cliff top east until you hit the no trespassing chain, then descend left and follow the cliffs.
There is lots to explore, in complete solitude.
Much of it is otherworldly
or retracts into abstraction.
This has been quite some experience.
Found (Hemlock Cliffs V)
Finally, after the silly April 1st post from yesterday, here it is, the elusive Arrowhead Arch.
It took me two attempts to find it. The reason is that some web pages have the wrong GPS coordinates, and it is also marked incorrectly on some maps.
The arch features a special rock where people have decided to follow their irresistible urge. At least it’s pretty much limited to this rock.
Even if you know where the arch is, it is still hard to find. On my first attempt, I gave up and turned around literally standing on top of it.
Still, the erring around on the cliff tops pointed me to some other wondrous places. More about them next time.
Did I mention the incredible rock formations?
Lost (Hemlock Cliffs IV)
So how does one find these walls?
The recipe is simple: Get up early, in a night where the moon is full, and start walking.
Get behind a waterfall, close your eyes, turn around yourself three times, and go straight on.
When you hit a wall, you are there.
But be careful not to fall.
Walls (Hemlock Cliffs III)
Hidden deep in the backcountry near Hemlock Cliffs is a collection of ancient murals.
They are still a work in progress…
Both the complexity of the designs and their diversity are surprising, given that they are all only a few steps away from each other.
Few people ever come here.
What is the purpose of this? Is everything meant to be seen? Is the question meaningless?
Maybe all this is just here to give us confidence that there is enough to see, for all of us, if we dare to find it.
Paths (Hemlock Cliffs II)
The backcountry near Hemlock cliffs is ruthless.
There are no established trails you can trust. Follow stream, deer trails, old logging roads if you wish, you can only be certain that they will not take you where you want to go.
Most of them end anyway, at a rock face or a clearing leaving you pathless.
It’s of course very easy to get lost here. GPS, compass, topo map are a must.
Still, this is not all aimless. We’ll find our way.
Fog (Hemlock Cliffs I)
The next few posts will be from several recent visits to the Hemlock Cliffs Nature Preserve and nearby areas.
The main trail is a short loop that descends steeply into a canyon, featuring a splendid waterfall.
Early spring and early morning are the perfect times for this landscape, when the emerging colors are tamed by light fog.
Beech trees seem to radiate and like to be framed properly.
Wise old trees look curiously at the lonesome hiker.
End of a Journey
Spring is finally here.
Apparently, my eyes have adjusted to notice details I wasn’t aware of last year.
And of course, with the flowers come the bugs, and the bug-eaters… I noticed those before.
Pussyfoot seems to like moss, too:
At a larger scale, only the warm colors tell us that the time of the three suns is over, for now.
Night Walks
The end of winter marks the time when I started to walk the Pate Hollow trail on an almost daily basis, to stay physically fit and mentally sane.
I know this trail like a close friend, in every mood and season. I mostly walked in the early morning hours, but lately I enjoyed the late evenings, after sunset, using a flashlight for the last half an hour.
The light at dawn has a different quality than at dusk, it has a certain tiredness to it that I can’t explain, but which feels good, like being tired after having persisted, through a day, or through a year.
There is also a certain urgency to this hour, to complete the circle before the time is up.
Darkness enables intimacy — maybe because it forces us to focus harder, maybe because the visible is so close by.
A year has passed. I will treasure every minute spent with a good friend.
A la lumière d’hiver
Aide-moi maintenant, air noir et frais, cristal noir. Les légères feuilles bougent à peine, comme pensées d'enfants endormis. Je traverse la distance transparente, et c'est le temps même qui marche ainsi dans ce jardin, comme il marche plus haut de toit en toit, d'étoile en étoile, c'est la nuit même qui passe.
Je fais ces quelques pas avant de remonter
là où je ne sais plus ce qui m'attend, compagne
tendre ou détournée, servantes si dociles
de nos rêves ou vieux visage suppliant...
la lumière du jour, en se retirant
– comme un voile
tombe et reste un instant visible autour
des beaux pieds nus –
découvre la femme d'ébène
et de cristal, la grande femme de soie noire
dont les regards brillent encore pour moi
de tous ses yeux peut-être éteints depuis longtemps.
La lumière du jour s'est retirée, elle révéle,
à mesure que le temps passe et que j'avance
en ce jardin, conduit par le temps,
autre chose
– au-delà de la belle sans relâche poursuivie,
de la reine du bal où nul ne fut jamais convié,
avec ses fermoirs d'or qui n'agrafent plus nulle robe –
autre chose de plus caché, mais de plus proche...
Ombres calmes, buissons tremblant à peine, et les couleurs,
elles aussi, ferment les yeux. L'obscurité
lave la terre.
C'est comme si l'immense
porte peinte du jour avait tourné
sur ses gonds invisibles, et je sors dans la nuit,
je sors enfin, je passe, et le temps passe
aussi la porte sur mes pas.
Le noir n'est plus ce mur
encrassé par la suie du jour éteint,
je le franchis, c'est l'air limpide, taciturne,
j'avance enfin parmi les feuilles apaisées,
je puis enfin faire ces quelques pas, léger
comme l'ombre de l'air,
l'aiguille du temps brille et court dans la soie noire, mais je n'ai plus de mètre dans les mains, rien que de la fraîcheur, une fraîcheur obscure dont on recueille le parfum rapide avant le jour. (Chose brève, le temps de quelques pas dehors, mais plus étrange encore que les mages et les dieux.)
Philippe Jaccottet
June 30, 1925 – February 24, 2021
The Inner Frame 