Travel Sketches: Provincetown
My home this week is a dune shack named Zara. She squats amid beach plumbushes and knee-high grass in the expanse of the Province Lands dunes. Along the shoreline, the ocean spits out seaweed, stones, fish bones, and other detritus. Beachcombers scour the sand for treasures. A collection of faded buoys ornaments the fence.
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There's no electricity here, just kerosene lamps, a two-burner gas stove, a not-very-reliable gas refrigerator, and a well to pump water. I take off my watch and the week stretches out in time. Days unfold in random spurts of reading, writing, drawing, napping, swimming, berry picking, and general guilt-free lollygagging. At night, stars waltz across the tar-black sky to the relentless songs of the crickets.
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Each day as I fill the plastic jugs I flash on the scene in "The Miracle
Worker" when Helen Keller, played by Patty Duke, realizes that this thing (water) equals that word (water) as Annie Sullivan spells it into her hand. |
The sun blasts down and reflects off the sand. Time to stay inside and
nap, as the wind sighs through the screen door and rustling leaves whisper lullabies. |
I walk a path through scub pine and maple to one high berry bush, half
gray and brittle, half blooming with berries. As I pick, I daydream: blueberry pancakes, blueberry pie, blueberries floating in a bowl with cream. I'm greedy for blueberries. |