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 sixth 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.

March 4, 2015

WIRE BRIDGE MEDICINE

... i was in a bit of a—well, i suppose the word "funk" is as good as any with which to best describe my mood ... this time of year, with winter hanging long, my malaise's foundation was most likely simple cabin fever, but the nature of the affliction was a more a seriously pervasive discouragement ... that, i'm much afraid, is an old familiar companion, usually a result of my thinking too much about too much ... there is no medicine, of course (or, more accurately stated, i don't want to take the medicine), but over time i've learned that all else fails the best treatment is go wanderabout a bit ... so, doctor's orders, off i went ...

... i wandered until i spotted a bit of maine humor ...

... later i pulled against the guardrail along the high bluff overlooking the carrabassett river ... tottering atop a bank of iced crusted snow, with my toes hanging over the edge of an almost vertical drop off, i snapped a shot of the wire bridge ...

... a beautiful day, winter just beginning to admit it must give way to spring ...

... standing still, i could hear the water rushing beneath the thick ice ...

... taller than me, these massive blocks of shelf ice were deposited by the stream's high waters ...

... that little frozen mound is alison's favorite rock, where in the warmth of the summer sun she sits with bella in her arms,  her toes gently cooled by the softly flowing water, and does naught but relax ...

... this is her other spot, currently buried beneath a giant ice raft ...

... an unusual view of the structure ...

... their sublime beauty is a function of the fact that all suspensions bridges mirror the fundamental nature mass imposes upon the time/space continuum ...

... while the decking, tower weather structures, and foundations have all been rebuilt several times over the years, the main cables are the originals, most likely brought over from england prior to the civil war and installed when the bridge was constructed in 1866 ... it is one of the oldest suspension bridges in the united states, but, correcting myself, roebling's delaware aqueduct clearly holds the "oldest" record ...

... green returning, a sign of spring ...

... how wonderfully odd, that the color of the ice matches that of the shallow lagoon waters of a tropical island ...

... where are founded the very first of my memories, my grammy's beach, just to prove i've most excellent color memory ...

... in the afternoon sun, every so slowly the ice surrenders to spring ...

... winter, spring, summer, fall, for almost 150 years the cable anchors have given little notice the seasons ...

"As a bridge, each of our days connects one shore to another.
A bridge, however, simply spans this distance,
it is our task to make the crossing."
J.PRICE

... tired, i drove home ... i felt better ...