A full boat too far out before the gale A stark sun shining in the late September day
One signpost on the road of my recovery reads: don’t be an Island. Find the others. Don’t isolate. Beware the siren song of isolation.
After Woodstock at the Yasgur’s Farm, before Livestock with JT and Carly at the Agricultural Hall, there was the No Nukes Concert with AT and KT and...
I pick what’s left Off a wave’s last edge: blue wood bullet, two white eyes and brass rings.
I have lived most of my life on the right side of the law. I say most, because almost all of my alternative encounters with law enforcement have come...
The mornings have turned chilly and the dog, always a lazy sort who likes to sleep in, has burrowed under the covers, lying in bed with my daughter.
I’m told that people must die eventually, but I had hoped, maybe even expected, that my cousin Bart Heywood might live forever.
I lost two of my uncles within the last year. Both had a huge influence on me and my love of fishing in the saltwater.
Ten years ago, Edward Miller of the Menemsha Pond Racers challenged the Edgartown H12 fleet to a two-day regatta.
The stones from volcanos, The shells from the sea,
I come from a suburb out side of Washington DC where anonymity was my middle name.

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