Twas Brillig…

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves,
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe. – Lewis Carrol

I have no idea what that means --- nobody does --- but this was the sort of weekend that makes you feel that way. It was a warm, golden, breezy, luscious weekend with a particularly high high tide and the scent of salt water everywhere in the air. The church bells rang clearer on Sunday morning and the sounds of the ships coming and going from the harbor and the trains coming and going up the hill were all richer, brighter, more seductive. It is Spring and this is as welcome a Spring as I can ever remember.

It was a weekend to clean out the winter’s accumulation of junk in the car, put the top down and cruise the back shore, check on all the lighthouses to see how they fared through the winter, meet one friend for breakfast and another for dinner, and spend time on the beach soaking up much missed sunshine. It was a weekend for gathering in Connie’s living room with other knitters and to sit and chat and knit and share stories of how we have survived another New England winter. The birds filled the feeders on her porch and, on the horizon, the twin lighthouses of Thacher Island stood sentinel as they have for hundreds of years, calmly blinking into the blue of the day.

At high tide Good Harbor Beach was underwater all the way to the bridge. Kites were fluttering in the serene blue of the sky, dogs were splashing kids in the creek, and those who had snuggled back into the dunes and lost track of time found themselves in need of wading through a foot of cold water to get up on the bridge that would take them across the creek to where their cars were parked. These Spring tides are especially beautiful because the air is still crystal clear with the remains of winter chill and the light refracts back and forth from beach sand to granite rocks to swirling waters and makes odd rainbows and patterns of shimmering reflection bouncing off of every surface including faces of friends and neighbors.

And the flowers are coming into bloom. Everywhere are daffodils and jonquils and little purple volunteers of unknown parentage. The two white magnolias in front of the West End Theater are in full, glorious bloom and that magnificent, huge, gorgeous pink magnolia on Rogers Street in front of the bank is about to explode. There are few sights in the world more gorgeous than that tree when it explodes with every shade of pink imaginable.

I didn’t accomplish a lot this weekend unless you count chatting with friends, sharing meals, reading on the beach, and reveling in the joy of a Cape Ann Spring as accomplishment. Which I do. I am still reading Story which is a book so rich in ideas that you can only read a few pages before taking a break to think and digest them. I took one of his suggestions and bought a pack of index cards and started filling them with the story points that will eventually form the scenes.

I downloaded some software I need to learn and printed out the manuals and that’s as far as I got. It was too beautiful. It was just too beautiful outside to stay inside.

So it is now Spring in Gloucester. There are a lot of cold, rainy days ahead but the snows are behind us now and we have summer to look forward to. In less than a month the art association will open and life will become intoxicating. All mimsy are the borogoves and… well, you know the rest.

Thanks for reading.