Depot Pond

There is a small pond in a small town near a windmill on Cape Cod that defines vacation. Back when sand dunes were steep we drove from Eastham to Welfleet and hiked down to the ocean with all of the accoutrements necessary for a family of 9 and a few friends. We used that beach for hours. Walking, building, digging, swimming, riding, running, rolling, surfing, throwing, chasing, eating, searching, soaking, sleeping, reading, burning until dinnertime approached. Panting and sweating we dragged what we brought back up the mountain to the car, while our t-shirts scraped the sea salt into our sunburned shoulders.

We jostled down the long unpaved driveway to the pond, bursting from the car before it stopped and racing, racing to the water. Reaching the shore at full speed, diving without slowing into the cool pond, gliding until our bodies rose to the surface. A fresh water cleanse.

A sensation that is deeply a part of me.