It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single ghost in possession of a haunted house must be in want of a scare. Block Island is the black sheep of the northeast Atlantic. I grew up going there two weeks every summer with family and cousins. Leaving it after the two weeks gave my heart … Continue reading A Ghost Story
summer
Jilda, the Dancing Nude
Our backyard was big enough. It offered thick grass, a vegetable garden with chicken wire and a stack of firewood against the clubhouse. In the corner of the backyard sat a picnic table that sank into the soil on one end, a dog pen for John Doe and a tree stump with mint. As we … Continue reading Jilda, the Dancing Nude
The Hill
We lived near the bottom of a long hill, a hill that kept going forever. From the top of the hill came stories, evasions, mysteries that were never solved. I would sometimes look up the hill and wonder. Our own house was embedded into the hill. We sledded down our side yard in winter, mowed … Continue reading The Hill
Circa 77 