The Weight of Glory
Brooklin, Maine, summer 2024
This summer, we had the privilege of spending a week in Maine to celebrate our 25th anniversary. I’d been dreaming about a trip to Maine for probably 10 years, and we finally pulled it off.
We rented a VRBO which is always a bit of a gamble. Are the pictures really true to the property? There is always the anticipation when you first arrive at the house at the very beginning of the vacation. This is the place! This is where we are resting and adventuring for the week, and a deep exhale begins to settle in. So this July, when we first arrived at our house rental, I walked out on the back deck full of anticipation.
It did not disappoint, and this picture just doesn’t do it justice. We’d never had a house this close to the water, and it was a 180 degree display of awe. I gasped. Bear with me while I struggle to describe it.
Our deck faced east toward the island known as MDI (Mount Desert Island) which is what you see on the opposite side. Arriving at high tide, the water came up quite close to the back deck. I stood mesmerized, taking in the scene. It was utterly silent, and the quiet was so weighty, it held its own sound. The water felt pregnant, dense with treasures. The tiniest critter emerging for seconds shot thru the quiet drawing my rapt attention. A gentle breeze whistled thru the trees creating patterned ripples on the water. I felt the limits of my own breath, unable to inhale as deeply as the scene invited. The earth felt old, full of years and centuries and eons. I don’t know how much time passed as I stood there, watching, longing, drinking it all in. It is now the scene I picture when I think of the phrase, “weight of glory.”
I didn’t realize until 4:30 am the next day, that we were invited to watch 6 glorious sunrises from this very spot.
Why am I writing about this scene in late October? I was recently on a walk, a fast paced walk, a getting-in-your-steps walk, an “I’ve-got-things-to-do” walk. All jumbled inside, the scene came to me as an echo of remembering, an invitation, to slow… down… To breathe. To lift my thoughts out of my own stirred-upness. To return to the simple dignity of smallness drawn into wonder.
