Budding

In our neighborhood the Russian Olive

Is first to extrude its buds.

Along its slender branches, and at their tips,

Ten thousand tiny commas and apostrophes

Suddenly appear in March.

Within them,

Deep down,

Are ten thousand unborn berries

That burst out in tart profusion

For me to gather on a September stroll,

To make my lips pucker in delight.

The House the Houghs Built

Has the importance of history and the preservation of old architecture in the Island community fallen down a rabbit hole?

It would certainly seem so, and the scant public outrage over the proposed demolition of the Hough house on Pierce Lane in Edgartown is just the latest example.

A Walk in the Park

This is the 30th anniversary of the Film Mao to Mozart, and of Isaac’s Stern’s historic trip to China opening it up to the musical West as written up lavishly in a recent New York Times article.

It’s a late summer evening and I’m playing cards with my friend Heidi at the kitchen table as breezes waft through our rented farmhouse. It’s one of my favorite things about summer: how the wind fills the house like a welcome tide. Lie down near an open window and it drifts across your body in waves like gentle surf.

The air is warm, heavy and humid, and for me it’s like breathing cream. It makes the old house feel like a tent or open-air tabernacle. An animal snorts — a deer? Or is it Binty, the mare who pastures nearby?