A cacophony of crows wakes me the next morning. The sky is overcast, but the clouds are high and do not seem to threaten rain. I decide to hoist my box easel on my back and walk the gravel carriage road that runs through the woods along the west side of Eagle Lake. The road will take me to the trail up Conner’s Nubble, which is not quite a mountain, but a lovely bump of granite above the trees or—a nubble. At the trailhead the lakeshore trail swings east and the Conner’s Nubble trail heads up. Halfway to the summit I turn and glimpse the lake below a stand of white birches shimmering in the sun, which has broken through the clouds. Shrugging my paint box off my shoulders I slide out its spindly but strong legs, adjusting them shorter on the mountain side, longer where the leg plunges into the thick leaf cover on the steep slope. From the golden-orange diagonal the birch trunks slice the air in thin white verticals. My painting becomes not about individual trees, but how the trees are affecting the light and space.

At the top I get a unobstructed view of Eagle lake to the north, and two ball-like mountains called The Bubbles to the south. I will return to paint up here, for now I descend to continue my exploration.

The carriage road forms a loop that will bring me back to headquarters, but not before it bridges the same mossy brook eight times. A view to the west opens to reveal the brook’s destination, Aunt Betty Pond. Shallow and still, its shoreline is pierced by needle fine grasses which reflect in a mirror image to create patterns like fine ink lines.

It’s about 3:30 when I return and see John’s car in the parking lot, earlier than I expected. The engine is still clicking as it cools down, so I know he’s just arrived, but he is nowhere to be seen, so I leave a note on his windshield and go in to take a shower. A half hour later he arrives, having taken his own walk to explore Eagle Lake.