Where the Harbor Holds Its Breath

An early morning walk down to the New Bedford Harbor can connect you with a pause not present during any other hour of the day.

Fishing boast lined up in their slips without any sense of urgency. Their lines slack, masts reaching skyward like an invisible forest.

Even the working colors, the reds, the rust s and worn blue and greens, even the chipped, flaking whites, all softened by the early morning light.  At this moment, nothing has quite claimed the day yet.

Across the harbor the view into Fairhaven holds the distance. Steeples and rooftops rising above the horizon. All familiar, but quiet.  Right now my memory fills in a lot more than I can actually see.

When you capture a scene like this one, what stands out most is the simpleness of the harbor itself.

The calm waters of a working waterfront at this time of the day reward you with a reflection that appears deeper than the sky above. Instead of  a bright sheen across the water the light appears to drift from one section to the next.

Patches of clouds floating on the water inviting a quiet stroll amongst the fleet. Early morning deciding on its own how to begin the day.

With just a little patience the scene asks nothing more of you.

No need to know of the sense of resting boats, only an understanding that they too will return to work soon. Weathered structures dwarfed by the presence of an expansive but quiet space.

Just being here is enough to stand at the edges and notice how stillness can hold so much without effort.

I’ve come to recognize these moments  more easily over time.  Not because there are many more of them, but because they’ve become harder to miss.

Over the years that harbor has reshaped itself. But for these boats it continues to simply make space.

And for a few minutes, if by chance you makes your way here, you will do the same.

“Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me.”
— Henry David Thoreau

Talk soon…

G