Sensing that I needed a dose of the Cape’s rightfully-renowned natural majesty, JoAnn drove me out to the water. Years ago our friend Lee had sent us out to walk a pair of dogs she was watching, and we took them to the stretch of beach we drove past now. Lee has been gone for almost ten years – another loss, another bit of emptiness never to be filled – but as we drove by and the afternoon light hinted at spring, it felt more like acceptance than torment. We reminisced a bit about that day with the dogs, and somehow Lee was back with us, laughing and smiling and as amused as we were touched. Our loved ones do live on, even as our winter storms rage.
The sky changed swiftly then, as though reminding us of it transient nature. You can count on friends; you cannot count on the sky or the weather. A wall of dark gray approached from a distance. We made a stop by the water and got out of the car to take it all in before the weather shifted further.
A lone swan swam in the water, its feathers echoing the white clumps of snow still unmelted. JoAnn eyed it warily, warning me that the swans here weren’t of the friendly sort. A temperamental swan prone to acting out, I thought – a creature after my own heart. Beauty and danger.
We stood there for a while, as the swan circled its patch of water. Before it could reach us, we were back in the car and driving directly beneath the wall of gray that had now become a ceiling, and a quick little snow squall. This is the Cape, again, in another of its facets. Beautiful and ferocious.
We made it through the squall, which was soon over, and the sun was back in the sun for my afternoon meditation. JoAnn had an errand to run, and one more gift to bestow before dinner with a few surprise friends. I settled in to the deep breathing, and the sun conspired to grant us grace…
