Ann B. Day

One Last Sweet Breath

by Ann B. Day The last of summer lingers still, captured in a golden field beyond the leafless woods. I’ve come upon it quite unexpectedly! Gone are summer sounds of humming bees and katydids. They have fled the early frosts of fall. Instead, a gentle breeze stirs the graying goldenrod, and sun-warmed soil and yellowContinue reading “One Last Sweet Breath”

Morning Delivery

by Ann. B. Day In the four A.M. dusk of a summer morning, my sleep slides away into sounds that sift into our upstairs bedroom window: tires turning on gravel a truck’s muffled idle, boots treading on wood planks of back porch steps, glass clinking glass. A moment later, more boot steps on wood, scrunchContinue reading “Morning Delivery”

Ann B. Day grew up in suburban Massachusetts, which was very rural in the early 1930s. Her love of writing started in the first grade and has continued into her 80s. She married Frank Day from a banker family in 1950. They bought a farm in the Mad River Valley, Vermont, had two children, raisedContinue reading “Ann B. Day”

Home Concert

by Ann B. Day Rain: flute drops against the yellow leaves, flat on twigs and trunks of blackened trees. Rain: strings slide down the silver panes, beyond the puffs of popular gold on hills and wooded lanes. Rain: piano plays a beating bass upon still waters of the pond, where circles interlace. The afternoon of music minglesContinue reading “Home Concert”

Signs of Fall

Photography by Ann B. Day The signs of fall return each year as we look back at spring and summer and prepare for winter in New England. Ann B. Day shares some of these signs in her beautiful photographs—the frost on the rhododendron, the wood pile stacked in preparation for winter heating, and the changing colorContinue reading “Signs of Fall”

Winter Chores

by Ann B. Day I trek to the barn in the icy pre-light; the frozen air stings and pulls my skin tight. Boots squeak on the snow where footsteps have gone into the sharpness of a mid-winter dawn. The cattle stand lined in rigid regime, their breath surrounds them with frigid steam. Frost etches theContinue reading “Winter Chores”

Road To Tinmouth

by Ann B. Day On the back road through Danby Four Corners I was shrouded in fog and damp muggies. Leaves and grass were limp in the humid air. Light rain spotted the windshield, I didn’t close the windows. I drove up the hill toward a farm: white, paint-peeling house on right, gray-boarded, tin-roofed barnContinue reading “Road To Tinmouth”

Remembering Mary

by Ann B. Day Every day I drive by her barn-red farmhouse where she had lived since the turn of the century. No electricity; at night an oil lamp glowed in her kitchen window. Against the wall of her linoleum-floored kitchen her water, piped from a spring, ran a steady stream into an iron sink,Continue reading “Remembering Mary”