Visions of Arcadia

I am getting ready to head down to Jamaica this weekend which means that I am blasting Bob Marley on my sound system while I pack as little as possible in my suitcase.  I will be staying at Yellow Plum with Liz and Giul. . . .and Rocco, Pella and Biggins, of course.  I can already picture myself sitting on the veranda looking out over rolling green hills to the ocean and the sky far in the distance.

Last night while looking out at a spectacular sunset streaked sky from my favorite window seat, I realized that except for a week in Maine over the Fourth and this quick trip to Jamaica,  I will have spent most of my summer right here in the heart and heat of the city.  This is a first for me.  Even when I was working full time, I used to rush up to Maine every weekend, happy to escape and then always sad to come back.  

I think of the lake a lot.  I see it in my mind's eye covered with acres of diamonds by the afternoon sun.  I imagine sitting on the dock at sunset and watching the sky turn colors as the sun disappears into the lake.  Does the house miss me? Does it wonder why I've stayed away this summer?

Earlier this week, I went to see Visions of Arcadia at the museum, a truly transporting exhibit of paintings full of light and feeling.  At the end of the show, the viewer is asked to sketch his or hers vision of arcadia.  That used to be Maine for me.  I'm not so sure any more.