It’s not summer for me unless I spend at least a few days on a beach. Now that I have reached a certain age, I swathe my face in extreme sunblock, a hat, and even a shirt wrapped to block those wrinkle-causing UV rays. But the rest of me is exultantly ravished by the sun. The waves roll and lull me into a heavenly drowse. My limbs get heavy with salty sea air and heat. I am recharged and renewed. Bliss.
Of all beaches, the magical National Seashore at the Cape owns the biggest real estate in my heart. So imagine my keen delight when my cranky but beloved friend Paul invited us to Truro.
This year, the dynamic shoreline has sculpted itself into an inner moat and a berm set out from the shore. There’s a long natural sea pool for swimming, which is a gift. The exploding seal population on the Cape has invited in sharks, including Great Whites. I prefer not to tempt them, in case my wiggling silhouette puts them in mind of a struggling seal. I hear that Great Whites like to tear out the belly of the seal and gobble down the slithery, oily, tasty innards.
The sea is a place of primal experiences. We are primal creatures with salt water in our cells. Beaches are an integral part of who we are.
