At the top of one of the dunes, they had set up a canopied space for four loungers looking over the ocean, and what felt like the world. The sea pulled us with a mesmerizing call, so we made our way down the dunes to the shore. Unbothered by people (thanks to the plovers and their blocked-off nesting space) we had the entire beach to ourselves – a previously unknown anomaly in all my years of visiting Cape Cod – and a treasure of tranquility. JoAnn, Tyler and Kevin walked slowly along the ocean, watching for the heads of seals to pop up and say hello, while empty exoskeletons of sea life littered the way. We paused to pick up a few select stones, and sat down to listen to the water roll in.
There is a calm and grounding feeling that can only be elicited by a peaceful day at the ocean. It connects one to the universe in a way nothing else can approach. Perhaps it’s due to the waves, and the way the moon tugs at our waters, uniting and bonding celestial bodies as two parts in a much-grander scheme. Or maybe it’s the way that standing at the ocean’s edge literally grounds one, sinking our feet deeper into the sand, rooting us to a body of water that stretches to other continents.
Whenever I found myself in emotional trouble when I was younger and lived alone in Boston, I’d make my way to the harbor. There wasn’t a Seaport back then but it was enough just being near the dirty water and seeing the moon dance on the waves. Even in winter when the wind would whip the wires against their flagpoles, and the lonely clanging was all we could hear, it managed to be a calming influence.
How far away such a cold scene felt from this sunny day at the shore. Stones and shells and seaweed glistened in the salty sea wash, sparkling in the sun and demanding closer inspection. We stayed there for a while, feeling like kids again, then made our way bak through the dunes to sunset and dinner…
