I believe it was John Steinbeck who wrote of secret places men went presumably to think or sort things out. My place has always been Sandy Hook. Its a short pilgrimage that I can walk. Yesterday I hiked the bay side which was full of ice and all manner of odd objects that washed ashore. Truthfully I think less at Sandy Hook then anywhere else perhaps thats the appeal.
Like many places in New Jersey its hard to escape the omnipresnt telephone poles. For me there is a certain comfort in seeing the power lines cut across the sky. They are like an odd companion where ever I go. A necessary friend that you don’t always like but is hard to get away from and in the end our friends help to keep us out the dark.