I couldn't keep myself from the ocean for long though, knowing it was close by. Late on Saturday afternoon I said to Terry, "Let's go down to the beach."
Unlike the summertime when you could easily walk or bike the mile between the house and the beach, we quickly decided to bundle up and drive down to the empty Beach Parking lot. The beach was covered in bootprints rather than footprints. A few gulls and shore ducks milled around but no one else was there. It was so quiet and serene.
I started to think of my Dad as I often do when at the ocean. He always loved sailing and stories of the sea, and I imagined the coastline at Cotuit probably had a long history of settlers and natives mingling on the shores...maybe even a pirate ship or two making a stop at this quiet bay. Arrr, pirates! Dad always loved stories of pirates.
But instead of pirates this beach was only frequented by gulls and geese, occasional mallards and other shoreline ducks, most of whom had gone south for the winter. A few remained and as Terry and I watched the birds, I told her how my Dad (7-15-49 /12-11-09) would have loved this place. He wouldn't get to see it in person. although I felt his presence strongly from time to time while walking there. But someday, she reassured me, we would have a little reunion on these shores.
So I collected a few shells, packed up my talk of memories with him in the fading sun, and drove us back to the quiet little house. A warm fireplace and game of Apple-to-Apples let us wile away the evening, drinking and laughing among friends, much like any good pirate would.
