We had agreed that we should go for a picnic on Saturday, August 15, but I wasn't sure where you were planning to take me. When you picked me up, you announced, "We'll go up to Marblehead to that park at the mouth of the harbor; do you know the one I mean?" I didn't, but it sounded good to me, and it was a beautiful summer day.
We arrived in Marblehead and parked in a sunny, hot parking lot. You had packed a lot into the trunk: a cooler filled with fried chicken, Pepsi, and ice; a bag containing cups, plates, and napkins; two beach chairs; and towels (though we didn't plan to swim). Beginning to wilt in the sun after the cool air of the air-conditioned car, we gathered the stuff and walked to the park. A short path led up a grassy hill. Suddenly, there below our feet was the harbor. Sailboats of all sizes and colors zipped around on the water. It seemed odd that so much activity should be so silent. The water was green near us but became blue farther away. A strong breeze cooled the top of the hill on which we sat, and the sun now felt pleasant rather than hot. What more could we ask for? You spread your arms and shouted to the horizon, "Thank heaven for weekends!"