Chasing Rainbows

Last night, the warm spring light of the evening mixed with milky clouds towards the horizon in the southwest as I drove from one end of Maine to other.  Pale pinks and yellow grays combined in swirls and the late April sky resembled the surface of Jupiter.  Twelve hours earlier I was racing East from Bangor to Machias along Route 9, known to locals as the Airline, which connects the Queen City to the Canadian boarder and Calais.  Maine Driver’s

Rt. 9 Washington County Maine

Licenses, used to have the phrase, “Where America’s Day Begins” printed along the top edge with the image of a sunrise and a lobster boat.  Now, my license has a Moose standing above a heart indicating I’m an organ honor and the image of Mt Katandin along the top. 

My day began an hour earlier at the Vacationland Motel, in a room where the lock didn’t seem to work all that well.  The night before I told myself that nothing bad would happen, but took precautions anyways, stuffing a towel at the base of the door and wedging the desk chair under the loose handle, hoping these meager steps would allow me a few hours sleep.  Earlier in the day I was presenting at a conference at the University of New Hampshire.  It was the first time this year that I felt the warmth of spring, and my armpits became wet with nervous sweat as I thought about my talk.   I noticed it was 73 degrees on the bank sign as I turned onto a different section of route 9 in Wells, 160 miles away.   Not surprising, I saw a shirtless man raking leaves in his front yard. His dark hair covered his round torso like a black bear and contrasted greatly to his bleached white skin that had been hibernating for the six months of winter that had just ended.