by Theresa Hickey We, who dot the parched land, need oceans of resiliency to sustain prevailing winds that we might grow in courage Continue reading “Of Water and Sea”
Tag Archives: Featured
Nan
by Elaine Reardon In Cambridge it’s snowing softly, and Nan sets the table for Sunday supper. She reaches into the fridge for butter, cold slices of ham, a jar of pigs feet. We crowd chairs around the table. I sit on Mum’s lap with a slice of bread, butter, ham. Not food I’m used to.Continue reading “Nan”
Gertrude’s Gifts
by Jennifer E. Tirrell Aunt Gertrude was my father’s eldest sister. She came to visit us from time-to-time, but she never stayed long. Uncle Nate was kind, but anti-social, and waited in the car while my Aunt came in for her visit. Aunt Gertrude was very plain, with short white hair, brown eyes and aContinue reading “Gertrude’s Gifts”
Agatha
by Jesseca P. Timmons One September, in the 1970s, my parents went away for a whole week, and old friends came to stay with my twin sister and me. Back then, my parents were deep into their homesteading phase. Our friends David and Sally Synder, with their two boys, had most recently been living inContinue reading “Agatha”
Dormant Stillness
by Yvona Fast Trees clad in rainbows, One final burst of glory. Last dip in pond refreshes on a bright October day. Brown leaves decay, die. Summer sighs a sad sound of goodbye. Days shorten, nights lengthen. We plant tulips in anticipation of new growth, fresh green, of long, warm summer days. Crocus waits beneathContinue reading “Dormant Stillness”
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”
Sugarloaf Descent
by Parker Towle Low trees and scrub yield to precipitous scree slope, an irregular ladder of stone blocks with no bushes or tree trunks to cling to. Switchbacks are few. Cooling breeze above yields to flushing heat and dripping sweat. We tumble down through a sparse gnarl of trees with openings to view their topsContinue reading “Sugarloaf Descent”
May Day, 2013
by Martha Deborah Hall I open all my windows and doors, blast Bocelli singing con te partiro. Let’s dance around our Maypoles, let the breeze sashay in. Driveway snow has been ferreted. Dogwood blossoms graciously undulate in the yard. I log off my computer. May’s file is alive. I find myself humming, “I’ll see youContinue reading “May Day, 2013”
New England Memories 