Chilmark

Walking with my beloved dog who is deaf, his vision clouded by cataracts, but still has a good nose for critters, up the hill to the mailbox, I vividly remembered walking with my father when the land was covered in leg-scraping brush and dotted with cedar trees and highbush blueberries. I wish Dad was here and I could tell him, I get it. We exist in history, and in the process of making way for the new are organizing and delighting in the old books, papers, photos, and tools.

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