It was October. We had planned our trip to the cape for early autumn, eager to be dazzled by the famous New England colors. Whether from global warming, El-fucking Niño or a god we had somehow pissed off, most of the color we had seen was on the side of the road, attached to aluminum cans and paper from fast food joints. Weirdly, it was still warm enough to hang at the beach so we headed over. Maybe there were some dune shots we could get, even in the photographic horror of mid-day sun. We parked our heap, planted camera straps on shoulders and headed out. There, over the lane that led to the ocean, a cloud that looked like an aeronautical sheep seemed to urge us on as it wafted south. Come play, we took it to mean. We did, but what we found was no day at the beach.
Coot's Reviews 