Up the hill, after the center of Widcombe and the train station and the canal crossing, is the house that will outlive me and all my old friends. There was no canonical order to the history of careless nights spent in the cheapest public houses of old Bath. As we dug into the now-extinct culture … Continue reading Prior Park
I’m looking in from the road on a misty night at the Cape house I grew up in. It's half past five in the morning. The ancient white farmhouse, nearly as old as the country itself, stands renovated by its new owners. I can see the glow of the kitchen windows on the tall … Continue reading A Dreaming at the Tulip Hotel
The dirt driveway that leads up the hill to Lizzie’s house is marked by an enamel sign that reads “Lucky Pines.” I remember when I first saw it. It was the first time I’d stopped by to drive Lizzie to school early one fall morning in our senior year of high school. It’s been … Continue reading Spirit Reports Chapter 5: Lizzie
I saw a photo of you in an ocean-going canoe. Not one designed for it, instead, it was the old beat up one that you and your sisters keep among the brush and the sand dunes. The one meant for a New Hampshire pond, made of cherished and dented aluminum. I saw you among the … Continue reading The Summer Triangle and a Land of Abandoned Lake Houses
Ryan Shockey Davis 