The father squatted down on the patch of mud and dead grass. The little boy, maybe five or six, stood beside him, watching closely as his father pushed the metal legs of the stand into the soft earth, which in January should have been bedrock. The father straightened up, stepped back, placed his hands on…
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The green wreath tacked to the back of the wooden bench was no bigger than a dinner plate. A note card fixed next to the wreath, lacquered over in tape, read: Please do not remove this wreath. It is for my late husband to whom this bench is dedicated. I glanced to the right…
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A young woman sat at the end of long wooden community table in the café, which was empty except for her. Sunlight poured through the large window behind her, spilling over the thick text book splayed open in front of her. From where I sat, I could see the pages divided with the hieroglyphics of…
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This October I missed New England’s main event: peak fall foliage. For people unfamiliar with this phenomenon, each autumn the leaves all over this part of the country go on a hunger strike, leeching the green from their veiny hands to replace it with the most brilliant, jeweled earth tones of scarlets, oranges, and yellows.…
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