Covered for the winter usually in spurts, Maine snow seems like it will never end. When it finally does almost come to an end, we think, it reaches maybe 50 degrees, rains, and then blows and snows some more. But we still have receding piles of ice and chunks of snow where the plows stop and turn or back up for another push. These are the big piles of snow taller than my head at their peak, which now seem ugly, pathetic, shriveled, icy slabs of sand, pine cones, and dirt.
And the boulders newly get revealed. They’ve been decked out in white too. Tuxedoed for the party. Blanketed in white smoothing out their bumps and ingrown weeds. But as we’re at mid-mardigra now, they’ve been shedding their whites, and are wearing black. I’ve written about them before, these Maine boulders. When trying to speak of them, I’m reminded of the exchange between Hamlet and Polonius in Act III, Scene 2:
Hamlet: Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel? Polonius: By the mass, and ‘tis like a camel, indeed. Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel. Polonius: It is backed like a weasel. Hamlet: Or like a whale? Polonius: Very like a whale.”
Of course I’m talking about boulders, while Hamlet was talking of clouds, but the idea holds. If you are willing to indulge me, you’ll agree the attached picture looks like Labradoodle. You are also quite apt to think I have a screw loose, which was the common view of the character, Hamlet.
HAMLET: I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.
So sticking with the comparison, I’d guess I’m not crazy, I know which way the wind blows. And in fact, I’m sure it blows for spring in Maine, now that it is March. And the reason I know this is I’m seeing the rocks again.