Maybe Cape Cod is fertile ground for existential transformation. Something about the metals in its sandy soil catalyzing metaphysical shifts—I don’t know. All I know is I had my entire worldview rearranged when I was visiting its shores.
A March sky pinned with stars— purple, almost, and a blue mist in the wheat stubble. Under the laburnum, we waited— the chains of leaf, its cascades of gold flower gone, and the whole tree drooping