The Attack

Cold, dark, alone: The way it should be. The way it has always been.

True solitude may only be found in moving back-and-forth between currents of slightly different temperatures, in a water that feels like home. A deep peace overwhelms me as the full moon illuminates the waves revealing schools of fish upon fish; more than I could ever name or number. I soak in the salt, breathing deeply, as I meditate on the serenity of Cape Cod at night.

The city of almost 200,000 souls celebrates with festivals of wine and food; international films; and rejoices by remembering their heritage, their hydrangeas, their comedians, their jazz, their cranberries, their oysters, and even their turnips. Yet nothing compares to their coast at night under full lunation.

The water, deep and resonating, bears waves and tremors reverberating off of the bays, the canal, and the Nantucket Sound. In a surreal moment, I am connected to all essence teaming beneath the surface. Although I travel often and far, almost unable to stop, I am able to recognize the history here, something old and intangible, like the warmth of a family hearth that I should know but just can’t remember.

It is a history formed by water, creating the identity of the 94,367 men and 103,117 women who live here. It is a history worth sharing and living to both native born and immigrant alike. These waters bear identity and purpose, meaning and life, to those who will accept them. The Bay is a shelter to both the endangered and the plentiful. North Atlantic right whales find a home here in the warmer tides while colonies of gray and harbor seals cover the seashores.

Dolphins, bass, and bluefish are called by the abundant waters and they come. They come home, filling shipwrecks and litter with their own version of domestication. Seabirds and other animals of flight soar in the sky above the sea on the sunny days and find shelter in the brush when squalls arrive above the pounding storm-driven swells of the ocean. But, tonight is still. Tonight is silent. Only the waves may be heard caressing the Atlantic shore under the celestial sky.

How long have I been here? The ocean has a way of stealing your time. No, not “stealing,” for I give it willingly. Perhaps, “seducing” would be the better term. As my mind drifts in thoughts following the currents, I realize I am quite hungry. When was the last time I ate? And, that smell, what’s that smell?

Food.

A meaty, filling, aroma enters my senses. I follow it. The hunt begins. Cape Cod is known for its lobster rolls, apple bear claws, and bacon/scallop pizza. But, this smell is different, more primal, more wholesome. I rush to its origin. There, the meal lies, waiting.

All thoughts leave my mind as I open my jaws and dive into the meaty substance. The waters surrounding me become full of an adrenaline-inducing divine ecstasy causing me to clench harder on my meal. It moves forward, pulling away, searching for a dark nook or a safe place to hide. The moon is on my side.

Covered in red, I chase after my sustenance as it rushes away, hunger succumbs me as fear empowers my prey. Reaching the shallowlands, it escapes into the air of the night over dry sand. A woman screams as the sea froths and the seal returns to shore with wounds gaping and blood pouring back into me. I chase the undertow into the deep. I would find food elsewhere.

As I search for a lighter meal, I realize that I am cold, dark, and alone: The way it should be. The way it has always been.