Many creatures instinctively know the advantage of perching on high spots. They are afforded a better view of, and protection from, what lurks below. I’m guessing that it also imparts to them some measure of supremacy, and aside from being the bane of anyone who’s had to navigate a sloping property during the winter, what’s not to love about hills? They break up otherwise monotonous terrain and contribute to some pretty magnificent scenic views. And looking down from them imparts a certain sense of grandeur that isn’t possible at ground level.

I had the pleasure of looking down from such a place last week, from a beautiful spot up on the West Road in Waterboro. Accepting an invitation from a reader, I drove up to the hilltop cottage in which he and his wife spend time during the spring, summer and fall. Virtually inaccessible in the winter, the secluded spot is home to a small, hexagonal structure that sits back from the main road at the end of a short, grassy, dirt road that winds through thick stands of young trees and dense shrubbery. I knew I was in for a treat before I even got to the cottage, and I spent the next few minutes standing on a side deck overlooking the valley below that sweeps gradually away toward South Waterboro, Lyman and Biddeford. The owners weren’t there, and the place was locked up, but that didn’t interfere with my enjoyment of the surroundings.

Birds sang from the low trees and other growth below me, and the sun was warm on my face and arms. I sat on the small deck for a while, savoring the sound of the wind in the trees and mesmerized by the sight of insects’ wings reflecting the sunlight that poured unobstructed from a cloudless sky. The only other sound I heard was traffic passing in the distance and the occasional chirping of a cricket. Not having remembered to bring my binoculars, I could make out only certain features of the expansive valley below. A small landlocked body of water poked its blue eye through the dense woodland to the southeast, and another gently rising hill stood between me and points beyond. From that vantage point, the terrain reflects the ancient glacial forces that shaped this land into the rippling, forested sea that it is. I stood there as long as I dared but not so long as to reach a point where it would have been hard to turn away from such splendor.

I have always loved the sensation of being physically higher than my surroundings, of being able to look upon them and see them from a perspective rarely experienced “down there.” From that West Road hill, the bluish tops of distant rolling peaks seemed as untouchable and unattainable as stars, painted randomly across the horizon, the sole line of demarcation between earth and sky.

At such a moment and in such a place, my senses cannot help but transcend my thoughts and emotions. What I see in such a place translates into the sublime, feelings that are difficult to put into words, and that are arrived at simply by looking upon something greater than what can be taken in at once, if at all. Philosophers through the ages have theorized about what sublimity is, and each has his or her own definition. But all seem to agree one point: It has little to do with beauty and everything to do with how standing on an elevated, secluded spot overlooking a broad valley makes one feel. Common descriptors such as “beautiful” and “spectacular” do little to convey sublimity, a feeling that, to me, is best left uncommunicated and enjoyed simply for the grand, soul-expanding thing that it is.

Standing on that sun-drenched hill in Waterboro put me into proper perspective among the great wonders of this world. I forgot myself for a moment, took a step back from my reality and saw my problems as the small things they really are when juxtaposed against terrain that rolls away into the distance and that will endure long after I am gone. It was impossible to stand there and not feel deeply grateful that such places exist.

— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Springvale, who enjoys exploring the woods of southern Maine, can be reached via email at rachell1950@yahoo.com.