Storm at Schoodic

Storm 2
Schoodic Storm II Painted from my car

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap… I snuggle under my covers in the chilly room, lulled by the steady tapping of rain against the high windows. Suddenly the tapping becomes a loud drumming, accompanied by a sudden roar of wind, and I awaken fully, remembering that a huge storm has been predicted for today. I burrow my face into the enticing warmth of my pillow for another minute as I savor the sounds of the storm, then I leap from bed, and quickly pull on woolen long johns, jeans, turtleneck, two wool sweaters, a fleece vest, and, finally, my winter jacket, scarf, and hat. Grabbing keys and art supplies, I dash through pelting rain to my car, then head towards Schoodic Point.

Between the lingering dark of night, the heavy dark of storm, and the downpour of rain, I can barely see through my windshield. I don’t get far before I stop to stare in wonder at moving mountains of white standing out against the darkness, advancing across Arey Cove—white-capped crests rolling steadily toward shore, then crashing in mighty explosions of foam along what I know is a cobble beach, now buried beneath wildly churning water. Barely visible on the far side of the cove, giant liquid fingers reach up again and again to the heights of the granite cliffs of Little Moose Island.

I turn back to the road and drive carefully up to the point, round the curve into the parking lot, and stop. Mountains of salt water, more immense by far than the waves in the cove below, catapult themselves toward land, hurling raging waters against the pink granite that twelve hours earlier had been so serenely clothed in the soft glow of evening light. As each wave crashes with thunderous roar, burying the rocky point beneath roiling foam and swirling waters, spray leaps skyward, though no sky can be seen through the rain—waters from below leaping to meet waters from above.

I watch from way above the level of the water, way back from its edge, yet look up to see clouds of spray, blown high and wide by wind, so that my lips taste the sea, as I stand in silence before its awesome power.

Schoodic Storm (Painted from my car)

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