Indian Point Road

I wanted to stay in the studio and work on my project, when I was 22 and he was 33. It was Saturday afternoon and everyone else was going to the lily pond. When he returned he came into the studio and handed me a goblet blown by Lino Tagliapietra. It was filled with water and a single lily. "Since you couldn't go to the lily pond, I brought it to you," he said.

On my last day in Maine, twenty years later, I reflected that I'd done everything I'd dreamed of doing there. Then I remembered the lily pond. Where was that lily pond, the one he'd brought to me? I read that it was on Indian Point Road, but I'd driven every road on the island and still couldn't find it. Then I realized it was the road right next to Saint Mary's, the one with the old Mobil Pegasus sign, so close that I couldn't see it. As I walked, I wondered what else was right in front of me, that I was looking for but couldn't see. When I turned the corner the memory of a single lily bloomed into a pond filled with thousands.