Editorial

Vignette

Monday evening at 6:40 I left my home to drive over Gloucester Hill. I was on my way to the Selectmen meeting in the Meetinghouse, as usual. What was not usual was the utter beauty of the scene. Or maybe I was just in a particularly sensitive mood so that I noticed it.

The low sun over the hills threw long shadows was quintessential Italianesque chiaroscuro, or that special smoky light that seems to deepen into a golden haze where the shadows meet the light. The Opportunity Farm girls were playing softball on the grass and I could hear their laughter over the hill.

The apple trees at Thompson's orchard were ablaze with the setting light, each leaf standing out in relief against the blue sky tinged with pink. The moon was rising over the haystacks that were lined up dutifully on the meadow. They looked like the spine of a dinosaur's back but the edges were softened by the fading summer light.

The slap-slap of sneakers on the pavement belonged to a jogger whose swinging pony tail matched the rhythm of her Golden Retriever's tail jogging alongside her. A man was sitting in the shadows under the pines by the pond across from the cemetery, idly throwing stones into the dark water, as his arm swung each stone burst into the striped patches of sunny air out of the pines' reach.

The whiteness of the Congregational Church was striking against the sloping green lawn and blue sky pierced by the steeple. All the doors and windows were thrown open, inside light spilled out, along with music. The song notes and voices wafted out over the manicured lawn and into my car as I passed by.

We're lucky to live here, and lucky to have beautiful summer evenings to share with our loved ones. As the moon rose and the sun slipped, I walked up the granite steps of the Meetinghouse and was grateful for the day.

Above, moonrise over Gloucester Hill, Prata photo

Editorial by Elizabeth Prata
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