Tarmac ribbons criss-crossing the landscape, dusty back roads twisting between the cool shadows of ancient pines, and less traveled pathways connecting present to past, all I wander, seeking, seeing, with my keyboard and camera capturing scenes and stories to share with you.

Now in its seventh year, this venue has become an important part of my life, a place where I can express my thoughts and feelings about the things I see and do, hoping the process brings me a bit closer to friends and family who enjoy sharing my sometimes chaotic and often nonlinear observations and ideas. A journal, I suppose, but one with which I find pleasure in thinking others are alongside me on my journey.

Comments, thoughts, or just a friendly chat, use the response box below or email me at patrickgroleau@gmail.com.

September 11, 2012


... the news was talking of the events of september 11, 2001 ... "we'll never forget" seemed the theme, as it was all day in postings on my facebook page and in the editorials presented to me by my google news search ... i decided to go for a walk, in my mind the thought, "of course we will" ... forget, that is ... in my stroll i noticed no evidence this was anything other'n a normal day, one perched at the edge of summer, the coolness in the breeze and hint of yellow and red in the leaves providing that in new england's seasonal story it is a page in autumn's prequel ... you might remember, perhaps even i, too, but, over time, we will forget ... we always do ... we must, if for no other reason than we've only so much room for our emotions, and the future requires its own space ... this is the anniversary of the first battle of the marne, by the way, a short week during which over 1/2-million soldiers died ... this is not a political comment, rather, simply that once again, as always, it is time to begin letting go of the summer ...

... i walked on, down along front street with the city perched on one side of me and the dark water of the kennebec river silently drifting by the other ... the evening light can be magical here, filtered through the western mountains, winding its way through forest and farm and across our lives, eventually finding rest in the deep damp misty blackness of the gulf of maine night ...

... i strolled on, thinking about that other september day ... in the greater scope of human history, i suppose, this tragedy will probably be of far less note than presently we're capable of accepting, being that reverberating in our ears are still not yet faint echoes of cell phone conversations and crashing steel ... like that awful boo-boo as children we all suffered, the one which frightened us into the protective arms of our loved ones, the wound we thought would never stop hurting, only to one day suddenly notice the pain was gone, and that we'd no memory of the exact moment when it had left us ... the same will happen with this big, gigantic boo-boo, too, and, because of our promise to never forget, we'll feel guilty ... for awhile ... i hope that when this happens we will remember how, for a fleeting moment, it really wasn't all the bad that we seemed to find such great comfort in walking a tiny bit closer to one another ...

... and, if we have drifted, our paths diverged, each of us to the other seemingly lost in a different journey, we must remind ourselves that a conversation shared is of far less consequence as to its content as it is important because it was just that, shared ...

... no matter what, i hope that out of a great tragedy can a bit more be collectively realized that while history is always about the past, no matter the direction of our gaze the paths upon which we travel lead always in the direction of the future ... even as the night descends, and darkness begins to fall upon us, if we take the time to look closely the last spark of this day seems always a way of illuminating the promise of the next ...

"Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream."