My husband and I have retreated to Truro, MA, almost at the very tip of Cape Cod, for the long weekend. Yesterday when we drove down to the bay, we saw something we'd only seen once in all our years coming here - the waves seemed to be made of slush, and the sand was covered with silvery snow that had been swirled into a frozen, lunar landscape by the wind, cold, and tides.
A few insights - the mushy, poetic kind that only come to me when I'm standing on a beach:
First, I marveled at how even though the bay was cold, frigid to the point of being slushed at its edges, but never frozen. Never will it stop moving, even in winter.
Then, I thought of the book of Ecclesiastes. Everything in its season, right? Standing on a snowy beach in 20-degree cold--the same beach that I've enjoyed on so many beautiful summer days--left me reflecting on how the same thing has different beauty in different seasons. Just like how our gardens are put to bed for the winter, but deep in the mysterious soil they're already setting their springtime movements.
So even though the world is in its wintertime rest, the water never stops moving. And wow am I lucky to be able to see that in every season. Here's a brief video to share some moments from that magical place:
