At land’s end, where the road dissolves into sand and the sea decides who stays, Provincetown waits. 

Here, the tides change the light. Time loosens. Stories drift in with the salt wind—of those who came searching, and stayed when they found themselves. Beach roses press against cedar shingles. Smoke curls from pitch pine. Lovers vanish into the dunes. Footsteps echo down narrow streets. The night softens everything.

This is Atwood. Born of this place, shaped by its shore.

A tribute to becoming. To the way a place can hold you, undo you, make you new.