On Christmas Eve the sky was clear for Santa and for his reindeer.
I’ve been a gleaner for nearly a dozen years. It’s not a big deal. I pick veggies local farmers don’t need or want.
This time of the year / Whispers in Santa’s ear / Elicit Ho, Ho, Hos / Smiles of children / Laughter of folklore.
A poem with seasonal reflections.
As Thomas Dresser points out at the beginning of his new book, Martha’s Vineyard in the American Revolution, islands occupy a precarious position in...
Having never written a traditional book for a musical before Sunday — and having seen few musicals — working with Sondheim became my education.
Aboard the ferry in a winter of advancing age.
A Thanksgiving poem.
I went for my mother’s 87th birthday but stayed for the storm.
Over 2,100 years ago, King Antiochus promulgated laws that made Jewish ritual and worship illegal.
Forty five years ago, I received a telephone call from Anna Maxim, saying that a drunk man had crashed his car through her stone wall and was I...
The recent service at the Gay Head Cemetery for June Manning was a special gathering.