From ghostly nights atop Nobska, to the rush and blur of the Woods Hole Green- sometimes I forget that this place has given me a timeline and a place of bonfires. Cape Cod has been my home since I moved here from Rhode Island with my parents and younger brother when I was three. The place is steeped in legend for me. Like the ruins of Avalon crumbling in the dusk somewhere offshore, so too does this place of glacial remnants contain healing waters which I return to when I need to remember who I am and steady myself to go ahead on. These pieces of prose are nonfiction. I would classify them as poetic memoir, but you can call them whatever you like. They are stories and memories that rush back to me at 4 AM when the wind blows with tidings of the salt air I remember from my time back in high school. These random recollections are the amalgamation of many roaring summers. I hope you find something of value in them or perhaps a line to take with you, as you wander the sands and breakwaters of the continent.