(photo by zachary jack marcus)

At the Cape for a few days with my family and in-laws. I got up before first light and took the short walk from my room to the beach at Pleasant Bay.

No one was up. Not one soul.

Sprinklers were going all over the posh complex, keeping fresh, the grounds full of greens and flowers - as if no such thing as a natural growing season existed.

I spent the next hour walking along the beach, watching the sunrise.

When I returned from the beach the grounds were still quiet, except for two young women preparing the poolside bar for the day, getting ready for the morning drinks crowd I imagine. Electric golf carts scurried here and there, delivering the latest edition of USA Today to every room. I passed an ash tray holding the stub of a Cuban cigar.

Last night, after checking in, I met the woman who turns down the beds and places chocolates on the down pillows. We talked about our families, and laughed about tourist spots anywhere in the world looking the same. By the time she left, she was calling me by name, and I her. Sylvia is from Jamaica. She arrives here in March and returns home in December to her husband and children. Every year for twelve years.

The seagulls and various other birds came to life as soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, grateful, I like to suppose, for another day. I know I am, but I may need something stronger than a bloody mary today -