Hammonasset looks different in the fall light. The sun is lower in the sky in October in the northern hemisphere and the colors of land, sea, and sky take on a magical quality. The sky was partially cloudy that day, but the light coming from behind the clouds made the clouds glow. The sky was particularly beautiful and entrancing.
There was a precarious cairn perched on top of a rock near the edge of the sea. The structure had a delicate balance and looked like it could topple over at any moment. The rock cairns appear and then disappear frequently. They are ephemeral in nature and not meant to last for very long.
Sometimes I stop along the path and sit on a driftwood log on one of the rocky shell beaches. I listen to the waves on the rocks, watch the seagulls fly, and look out towards the horizon where I can see the faint outline of Long Island, about 20 miles across the sound. On the left I can see the jetty and lighthouse at Saybrook Point. It gives me comfort to be in this place and connect with myself, the me inside who can get ignored and wants to be heard.
There were monarch butterflies everywhere and one landed on the arm of my colorful quilted jacket and stayed there a while. Each fall, millions of monarch butterflies leave their summer breeding grounds in the northeastern U.S. and Canada and travel upwards of 3,000 miles to reach overwintering grounds in southwestern Mexico.
Further along the path, the clouds took on a shade of purple, my favorite color. The sky kept changing as I walked along… sometimes darker, sometimes light, sometimes with wispy strands of clouds stretching out forever and sometimes with blue sky breaking through.
I don’t know why, but everything looks different on the return trip. It is as if something has changed and you notice things that you didn’t see before. There is a feeling of coming home, of arriving, of coming back into yourself after being away. This is what I seek when I come here.
This is the entrance to the path, and it is only accessible around low tide. This area becomes covered with water as the tide rolls in, making most of the path inaccessible. I always check the tide charts before I come for a visit so that I can walk the path. Some people are like that… they are only accessible at certain times and other times they are closed off. It is not easy to reach out to someone like that.
The labyrinth at Hammonasset has grown and changed over the years. It is breathtaking! It is hard to believe it has been one year since my last visit, see blog post here. I don’t usually let that much time go by. A lot has happened since then.
I am still struggling with health issues but I am hopeful that everything will work out for me. I am starting to see small glimpses of feeling better… there is a little more lightness in my step, and the fatigue is starting to lessen. Slowly my energy is returning and I am able to do more of the things that I want to do.