Dew dripped from the tips of the seagrass as I quietly made my way along the dunes. Only the birds and a few ships were out at this early hour. The wind, which could be wild and relentless, had softened to a slight breeze, allowing the grass to wave and dance in gentle rhythm. Here, where we had only a few hours ago watched the sunset over one end of the ocean I found myself alone, waiting for the sun to rise over the other end.
Only on the magical peninsula of Provincetown can you find such a view of both sunrise and sunset. Here, where the first spark of the day shown suddenly red over the sea, and the sun rose and set in a matter of seconds – the line between dusk and dawn so miraculously demarcated – I sat on the dunes trying to take it all in. Here, at the edge of a world that no longer knew how to breathe in such beauty, I paused to inhale.
Seeking out solitude, I made my way from our little house on the dunes along the path to the main house, then meandered along to the roped-off entrance to the beach. Blessedly blocked off to the public for the plovers, the entire expanse of this bit of Cape Cod shore was empty. Seagulls soared silently through the sky, and the only sound was the hypnotic rolling of the ocean – the ocean that never quite slept the way that we did, that had no need of sleep, and that stayed implacably unbothered by all our encroachments.
On this day of departure, after an all-too-brief brush with a sublime beauty so gorgeously accentuated by new and old friends, I sat in the dunes waiting for the sun to rise, and recollecting what felt like a full and fortunate life in a single day…
