Fred Vincent, sexton of the church / for thirty years / Walked past our house each Sunday / In the winter / To go and ring the bell.
In some circles there’s talk. Some of it is disparaging and some of it is hopeful. Its an old Island conversation, about newcomers.
The memories come flood ing back during the imposed isolation of the pandemic.
I recently attended a dedication ceremony at The Dodd Center for Human Rights at the University of Connecticut.
I am driving with my son Hardy on I-95 south, headed for our first college tour. Hardy is 17, a senior in high school.
When I was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer at the age of 37, my world suddenly became engulfed in pink.
On a day when a double rainbow kissed an ashen sky over the outfield wall, when the sunshine refused to leave Fenway Park, and the raindrops dared...
What’s the buzz and the click? / My song of course, / though no one but I have ever tried to sing it.
I can see a headline now. SAYS YOU! Says Adieu!
As I prepare to leave this drenching summer in West Tisbury for autumn in scorching northern California, I am haunted by last September.
Autumn has arrived and summer has departed. It is the time of other arrivals and departures on the Island.
The progress of medical science in the last century has not only postponed death for many Americans but transformed it as well.

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