I miss Cape Cod.
The last time I visited was in September 2009. It’s been much too long.
I remember it was stunningly beautiful in the Fall.
The sunlight was dappled and welcoming.
The Indian Summer air was warm and left lingering remnants of salt on my lips.
I recall a red moon rose on the first night and it’s reflection was caught in the wetness of the low tide.
The lobster was delicious and decadent and the streets bustled with vibrant energy.
There’s something romantic and endearing about this area of the country. Mysterious and historic as well.
And just to touch on a bit of the historic: Most aren’t aware that the Pilgrims first landed in Province Town before the Mayflower came to rest at Plymouth Rock.
Some of the oldest Pilgrim cemetaries in our country our located there. I love to walk through them, reading the names and epitaphs on the crumbling yet amazingly interesting head stones. In the oldest parts you can find bits of the headstones that have fallen off. Shards of layered stone that tingle when you hold them. As if still emitting energy from the past.
The magic begins the moment you start your drive on the Cape.
I’m always so excited to see the wild turkeys on the side of the road. So much so that I squeal and want to stop the car to walk with and photograph them.
I love saying the names of the towns out loud as I pass the signs that direct you to them. It’s just fun to think of living in a town called ‘Sandwich’ don’t you think (just a bit of history: It’s the oldest town on the Cape and one of the oldest in the United States)?
But my favorite moment is when the sand dunes come into sight. There’s something so magical about them.
One day I hope to own a cottage there. Somewhere to simply ‘be’ and ensconce myself in pure, quiet beauty.
Yes, I’m longing for the Cape…