Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving My mother framed the Rockwell painting. That image of matriarch in white apron setting down white platter with turkey large enough to feed all the smiling...

As if England and Nature were the same, At Williamsburg we imitate by culling Tricorn and lace—it’s Restoration Game! And out we strut, colonialling, Having to mincestep Revolution...

an angel fell asleep on my shoulder last evening, in the train car aswarm with humans who had tumbled in from the city, some drunken with reddish...

I never grew out of cookies and milk I grew in. Someone reflective, not out loud. Even behind the smoke, I saw wheels turn and wondered where had you gone?   Perhaps it...

Cape Cod Peace rumbles in the distance like thunder then flashes in your window like lightening to hang heavy in the air like the damp so the boards...

I. “Koi,” in Japanese, is homophonic for the word “love.”   Koi fish can recognize the person that feeds them.   Circling your mother’s pond, they open their wide mouths to vanish the...

Toward the New Year, that late December, we parked the car near the old Sealtest Plant just off Pennsylvania a block down from Washington Circle where, since...

Odd. Just plain odd. No other word for it. It’s hard to see, against the backdrop of beech and brush at the edge of the river. Fisherfolk...

Climb the stairs. Take the call. Stand by the old green chair. Don’t sit down. Hear your mother say It’s cancer. Don’t answer right away. Clamp down your fear before you...

Fear is in your bread and you must choke it down. To think of home— the courtyard with its red filigreed rug, the peel-paint walls, how the breeze...