On quiet Sunday mornings in late August or September, soft and furry mists lay gently on the marshes and glassy waterways of Cape Cod, like a cat sleeping on a mirror.  A lone ibis, glides over the smooth surface of the bay, long before the noisy boats awaken and ripple the world apart. Greenish grey with dark trunks, a million trees stand mute over the ponds and bogs. Runners, three abreast on the damp roadways, or bright yellow bicycles witnessed by modern structures or by ancient stones...