Rodman’s Hollow was formed 22,000 years ago when melt water from the last glacier came through. The deep hollow itself was likely formed by a giant ice chunk so big, it cut through layers of sedimentary clay, exposing a layer of sand below. (That allowed the water to drain away and is why Rodman's Hollow is a deep, cup-shaped valley rather than a deep, cup-shaped pond.)
I went there a few evenings ago. I was tired. You already know this because I’ve been going on and on in every post about how we are moving out of our house at the end of this week.
I went down into the Hollow. The sky was soft. The light was soft. The air was soft and down I went and I was the only person and the paths wound around and down over stones and branches, turning but always down. And I began to look for pictures. First I saw green leaves. The new leaves above looked like they were coming out in order to fly away.
And then I saw the shad buds opening…
There were layers of green… tangles leading to thickets, all in different early stages of blooming.
These vines are dry remnants from last year’s growth, draping or falling down like hair or like a waterfall.
Here in the Hollow, I felt like a creature in my own place. And my mind left that other world of cleaning and closets and cupboards and lists of things to do. I didn’t hurry in this place. I didn’t have to organize anything. I only had the chance to notice the order that was already there.
I can’t tell you how much I liked this…how happy it made me, how it softly soothed and harmonized the frayed ends of my mind. I just looked for light and focus and the path brought me deeper and deeper down.
There are many dramatic places on Block Island…big places to see long vistas and the ocean crashing and sparkling. But sometimes it’s good to go where small things are happening, small leaves and blossoms in their millions and millions, coming out quietly and (almost) unnoticed in the perfection of their new green beauty.