Walking Back from the Beach
Lieutenant’s Island (the Bay), Wellfleet (the Ocean), Summer 2017
Day 1
I’m walking in a thick mist, the moisture too heavy for the air. Soon I’m drenched by a steady rain, with a half mile to go.
It could be worse, but for my leopard-spotted rain hat.
I scan a sweeping expanse of marsh grasses, shimmering in unison. In green hues, from yellow to kelly to purple.
I’m buoyed by the enveloping serenity and glistening beauty. Visibility stutters in rhythm to the rain.
I‘m surefooted as I ascend the steep and uneven path. Rivulets stream over my thonged feet. Hope they’re mixing those Manhattans for when I arrive.
Day 2
I’m walking midday in the heat. Past a reasonable hour when the sun was lower in the sky and the bugs less active.
A hidden colony of fiddler crabs skitter away sideways, sensing danger. Dragging out-sized, one-sided claws, they dive for their homes in the sand.
In the uncomfortable humidity, the sounds of nature are uncommonly crisp. Buzzing and chirping spike the stillness.
I swam in the Bay at low-tide this morning. Shells sharp underfoot, a claw closing on a toe, a menacing horsefly dive-bombing my head. There was nothing to do but dive shallow and swim hard.
Simply beset by too much unseen life.
Day 3
I’m walking in the pre-storm hours. The wind’s whipping up, the temperature’s falling. Brrr. Pitifully, I’m wrapped in layers, beach towel as shawl: a beach bag lady.
Bent, dwarfed, moss-covered trees are silhouetted against a blanched white gray sky. Almost surreal, certainly eerie.
I’m coming alive on this walk, every sense alert. Nature is in a near frenzy, the air suddenly expectant. I am deliberative, trying to take in all the sensations.
This time I will make it back before the rain. I will seek refuge in my vacation habitat with my sons and one of my son’s girlfriend. We will be safe and dry.
A clap of thunder startles my reverie. Get a move on, beach lady!
Day 4
I’m walking this path on a promising beach day, just the right temperature and sun.
Fishing boats dot the horizon, their engines sending a low rumble across the water.
Time to leave the Bay for the Ocean. Shore to shore, short miles crossing the Cape, but what a sea change!
Mesmerized by the sights and sounds of breaking waves, we spot Mr. Seal, snout poking skyward, casting puppy eyes around. Are you looking at us? For a little while, we follow your shadow shallow beneath the surface as you search for food.
Jubilant, we step gingerly in the frigid water, chatting and chattering. Hoping our bonhomie harbingers a good week.
A Dream
I dreamt our raft was adrift amid an enclave of protective seals, unstressed by rough waves or turbulent crosscurrents. These knaves of the sea, only prey to sharks and human predators, bring us to a pretty inlet. Tidepools of pintsize fish, snails and fiddlers are edged by marsh grasses. Growing tired, exposed, thoroughly od’ed on nature, we trek back. Hungry enough to eat a seahorse.
I want to thank John Kelly for allowing me to reproduce his beautiful paintings.
A Dreamy Place
Turns out that John Kelly and I were both on Lieutenant’s Island at the same time, vacationing with our families. He painted on site every day. I took cell phone pics:
