Commentary
Sand
Clean white sand
warm in summer
rolling wet
hot bodies
fresh from swimming
in the Sound
Frozen white
salted crunch
underfoot in winter...
Dennis daRosa, my longest-time friend in life, died last week.
Fifty years ago this summer I saw a musical milestone. No one knew this was a farewell concert.
Early Sunday morning, I like to walk Middle Road from West Tisbury.
I live on Martha’s Vineyard, 3,000 miles away from my homeland. Why?
Next Sunday at noon, the Martha’s Vineyard branch of the King Canute Society International will meet.
I live off a dirt road, rutted and pitted. Pebbles and dust spew from car tires.
I haven’t played all that much golf in my lifetime, but most of it has been with my brother Kent.
“Is there anything you’re excited about today?” the little boy asked me, as we were drying ourselves off.
Young people, even middle-aged people, don’t usually spend time thinking about growing old. I’m not sure why.
My passion for live theatre is now on hold. The Martha’s Vineyard Playhouse, where I serve as board chair, remains dark in these dark times.
