Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Crossing the Bar"
The poem was familiar, she'd had to read it in school, and it had been one of her father's favourites. When faced with a need to use up some of the accrued PTO, she'd asked around for recommendations. She needed a week to recharge and get away, and didn't want to trouble Mike about his cabin. That place was a slice of heaven, but she was sure he was busy.
There had been many ideas, one that caught and stuck with her was to come here, to this small town on the pointed 'elbow' of Cape Cod called Chatham. Alfred, Lord Tennyson himself had visited here and the infamous sand bar that protected the point here had inspired him to write that famous poem. A quaint, quintessential New England seaside town with cedar shake roofs and clapboard siding, tall white church spires and neat, manicured lawns and baseball fields. Oh, and the beaches. Chatham was surrounded by them. The water here was cold even in the height of summer but the sand was hot and the warm breeze was redolent with the tang of salt water, fresh air and wild roses that grew on the dunes.
Evening, she found, the beaches became mostly vacated. Suppertime and all the other tourists were eating, tending sunburns, putting little ones to bed. She was digging her toes into the sand. The hot crust gave way to cool dampness as she dug in and sighed. She wrapped her arms around her knees and watched the waves as they broke on the broken sand bar that lay just off the beach proper. The sun was setting behind her, behind the cliffs above that held the faithful lighthouse.
The light wind tousled her hair, the quiet roar of the waves were soothing. But quiet and calm and downtime led to thinking, as always. Home...home lies across that water. Home and Enid and Edwin and Robbie and Rose and ...I don't belong there any more, do I? I took this crazy job that I love and that's where I belong. Taking care of those people. Maybe someday I'll be done with it and...find a place where I do fit in. Until then...that's where I do.
She wasn't upset, just contemplative. She watched the sky dim from blue to periwinkle to violet, the few clouds catching fire with gold, orange, salmon until everything faded to twilight, the white caps of the waves clear as the stars twinkled into view above. It was going to be a long week. She'd relax, find the neat places to eat, get some cheap souvenirs for her shipmates, see the local sights. And...lonely quiet evenings on the beach would be perfect.
