We woke up in the morning with the intention of taking bikes across the island, from Oak Bluffs to Aquinnah, but the weather gods had other plans for us. Instead, we jumped on the bus, maneuvering our way from the airport, to West Tisbury, through Chilmark, and eventually landing at the old fishing village of Menemsha. By then, it had stopped raining, but the haze remained. The harbor, quiet, but alive. Children fishing on the pier, families climbing across the jetty. Colors reflectinh naturally on the water, radiating against the pale blues and greys. It was misty, breezy. Hazy, as if we had accidentally stepped across the threshold into an alternate dimension. A fantasy land where the only noise is the sound of fishermen unloading their catch.
Pre-sunset, post-ferry at Edgartown Harbor. We took the ferry to the island from the mainland earlier in the afternoon, and after checking into our room, we caught the bus from OB. Detour to brewery on the main road, then wandering until we made it to town and beyond to the lighthouse. It’s like a painting to me. The colors are so, so vivid. The camera could never capture them. And then there’s the quiet and the salt. The sand in your feet, alone on the beach on an island in the middle of the sea.
Peak hydrangea-season, mid-July on Cape Cod. My aunt, my grandmother, my brother and I spent the day in Chatham, touring the local gardens of the annual Hydrangea Festival. To be perfectly honest, though, the tours weren’t really necessary. The most beautiful hydrangeas of all were out in public, free for all to see. Chatham Main Street was fully in bloom.
Flowers, ice cream, puppies. It was my last day as a twenty-five-year-old, and I wouldn’t have spent it any other way.