Maine in Storm

Darkness, sand, plow, wind, scrabble.

How the two guys in the old truck drove up on a small snowbank at the hotel/motel.

Left it hanging. Gladdened my heart.

Reminded me so much of Sonny my old neighbor, 81 now, speeding back from work @ recycling center . In the evenings.

Stayed in Freeport, which I never go near but wanted to be in a position to drive to western ME.

Two storms…it was a ghost town.  I drove to town in the SUV I did not want, just to walk in the wind and snow. Grinned at passing UPS driver.  All the faux village shops were empty.

I have entirely lost all desire to shop. I notice this in the city, notice it very much in Freeport.

Just for the halibut I went to the “Home” section of Bean’s. It was hilarious.  Totally empty. I looked at stuff. The only thing I had the remotest desire for was the rugs. But you can make these yourself, I thought as usual.  I have ruined myself for consumerism by living in central ME, then moving and realizing I feel liberated by getting rid of things.

The Bean clerks were great.  Impressed by my footwear. “Ya got your ‘Yaks’!” they said.

Everything was cancelled in terms of my work. Not good. I went to the library and wrote. Later took pics from motel window of semi’s rolling by on 295 at the height of the storm.

I looked at the faces of the people who worked in the hotel. An Indian couple cleaned the room. The man had an incredible face.

Drove south finally.  Comforting to know exactly how to drive. Went to RI and put flowers on my aunt and uncle’s grave. L pointed out the exquisite carving on the older stones. I had never noticed. The swans and their children floated by.  Clearings in the largely frozen wetlands.

The elaborately hollowed snow around the stone, from the wind.

This I miss, the whole cycle of suffering and redemption. Ice. Can’t help it, just do.

Read in the Bangor Daily News about a female blacksmith/artist who lives on a subsistence farm an hour north of Bangor. Tempting in a way. I know the hard life and the hard life keeps you young.  It is very strange not to be focusing my efforts on winter survival—shoveling, roof raking, wood, etcetera.

I’m sick of the culture right now, a lot of dogma about how one is supposed to react. Very much superimposed on art. This I deeply dislike.  Rules and dogma kill creativity. Also  the culture is so coarse.

But I love this city and culture here, the expansive world. I brought shells back from Pine Point, and we shall see.

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