Cape Cod

You should see me on Cape Cod. I’ve been visiting every summer for about twenty years now and my routine is well-established. No sooner do we drive across the Bourne Bridge than the worry lines disappear and I shed ten years, almost as if the laws of time and gravity had been erased. By this point in the trip I’ve left my job so far behind it’s not so much in another state as on another planet. This is followed by a week or two of standing on the National Seashore staring out at the sweep and majesty of the Atlantic; floating like a big hairless seal in the bath-warm bay; and meandering through red maple swamps, around salt ponds, and across the tidal flats, where every quahog or razor clam shell must be picked up and examined. The chance sighting of a great blue heron, a cormorant, or even a piping plover is enough to set me rhapsodizing about Nature’s grand design. On Cape Cod, my only real concerns are which restaurant to go to for dinner and where my next ice cream is coming from.

Oh, and I also read.  read more »