August 6: Rainbow's end

finally some rain

two red lobster boats shining

end of the rainbow

 

Owls Head harbor tonight

 

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May 19: Weather patterns

rain falling across the bay

here in the harbor

we get the rainbow

 

 

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August 4: Music before sunset

Blues on the stereo.

Rich, between-storms light,

the hint of a rainbow.

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August 15: Rainbow

We missed the rainbow

Three schooners at anchor

Late, lovely harbor light

 

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December 23: Rainbows

When I was a kid, a shop in downtown Camden sold little cut-glass prisms in different shapes--snowflake, teardrop, crescent moon, star--and whenever I got my allowance I'd head there to buy a new one. I tacked them up in a row, hanging them off fishline in my bedroom window so they'd catch sunlight and scatter little rainbows across my wall. This was back in the 70s, when rainbows were cool (along with Smurfs and the Bee Gees). I had rainbow stickers and window decals, but preferred the "real" rainbows made by my sun-catching prisms.

I'd forgotten the pleasure I would get from those spinning bits of rainbow until I unwittingly replicated the experience. A friend recently sent me a giant "diamond" of cut glass, which I've kept on my desk as a pretty paperweight. While reading on the couch this sunny day, I was surprised to see little patches on rainbow dancing on the wall. After figuring out that they weren't related to anything on the Christmas tree, I realized that winter sunlight coming through the bare branches in the backyard was being "caught" by my diamond paperweight and strewn across the house in rainbows.

Winter sunlight
fractured by cut glass:
living rainbows.

August 16: Sky

Coastal Mountains Land Trust's Annual Meeting took place this evening in Beech Nut, a stone, sod-roofed hut at our Beech Hill Preserve in Rockport. We were a bit uneasy at first, because it had been raining steadily all day, and to reach the hut you have to hike 3/4-mile up a dirt road, utterly exposed to the elements. But as we began setting things up, the rain abated and a rainbow spread over Penobscot Bay. We took that as an auspicious sign.

At the end of the meeting, as mist lifted from the mountains and the day's storm clouds passed away to the east, sunlight broke through to shine on the fields and islands below. And soon, we were treated to a breathtaking sunset--the kind that just gets more beautiful and intense the longer you watch. It began as an explosion of sun against Mount Pleasant, turning it into a virtual volcano, and ended as layers of pinks, purples, and peaches spread across spangled clouds and puffs of mist, a riot of color and texture. 

One of the special aspects of Beech Hill is its open summit, revealing the sky in all its glory. Tonight I felt grateful to be able to watch the sky shift through so many moods in such spectacular fashion as we celebrated the Land Trust's 25th anniversary.   

Thankful for these clouds

making rainbows possible

and-oh!-this sunset!

October 14: Fire Hose Rainbow

Every so often the Camden Fire Department tests their fire hoses on the river right outside my office. This afternoon they had several going at once--men having fun playing with hoses--and the plumes of spray were catching the light just right, forming a short, vivid rainbow. With a glowing backdrop of blue sky, reflecting water, and color-shifting foliage, this rainbow was quite a vision, even if it was man-made.

Even a rainbow

created by fire hoses

is still a rainbow.

October 7: Thank you, Rainbow

When one is a professional development officer for a nonprofit, responsible for raising money in this difficult economy, not every day at work is a walk in the park. Actually, some days are, literally. Some days I get to hike the land trust's preserves with donors--those are days that I love my job. But today, despite some bright points, by late afternoon I was feeling tired and discouraged. And when it started to rain yet again, that didn't boost my mood. But then, the sun suddenly came out, shining through the rain, and a brief rainbow arched over Mount Battie:

OK, granted by the time I ran outside to take this photograph it had already started to fade, so you can barely see it here. But the sight of that ephemeral band of colors, touching down in the autumn-tinted forest beyond the river and backed by a cheery blue sky, lifted my spirits. Some days that's all it takes. And some days it takes more than that, so today I feel especially fortunate. 

 
Yes, it's a cliche--
rainbow as symbol of hope.
But it worked for me.

April 19: Sun-shower

This afternoon while running an errand I got caught out in a torrential downpour. I got soaked in about 60 seconds. It was rather invigorating. By the time I got back to the office, the rain had passed through. The sun shone, and vultures soared ecstatically in the blue sky, wheeling over Mount Battie on gusts of wind. And there I was with wet hair dripping all over my desk. But soon enough, another clump of clouds rolled in, and it began to rain again--though the sun was still shining, the western sky a wide scrap of blue. As we  were leaving work, a faint but full rainbow arced over the mountaintop, briefly bridging it with rapidly fading colors.

From the movie "Kurasawa's Dreams" I learned that this kind of sun-shower is the foxes' wedding day. If you happen upon the ceremony itself, as happens to a boy in the movie, you will never be able to return home. (That's just one haunting "dream" in this beautiful film.) I always think of it when experiencing this weather pattern, the scene of the fox bride and groom upright and dressed in ceremonial clothing, marching through the trees with their wedding procession, one of them turning to look right at the boy spying on them...

Interestingly, in checking it out just now as a bit of Japanese folklore, I discovered that the theme of a trickster animal getting married during a sun-shower is common all over the world. For many cultures it's foxes, but in Bulgaria, apparently bears get married, and hyenas in Kenya. In other places, devils or other evil spirits get married. What's up with that? That's the kind of thing I would have loved to have studied back when I was taking folklore classes in grad school.

In any case, foxes in this neighborhood should have done their "marrying" a couple of months ago, so I'm not worried about stumbling upon their wedding. What does worry me, however, is that some night I'm going to hear a vixen screaming in the woods and drop dead of a heart attack.

Sun shining through rain--
fading rainbow a bower
for foxes' wedding.