On this narrow spit of land, shell fragments fleck the sand—scallop, quahog, whelk. Last night's dishes. A bind of pipers scampers at the...

As I wrap your gift, I have the irrational desire to somehow shield you from the terrible emptiness the holidays can bring. It is an...

On Thanksgiving, we passed the baby around. We took turns holding her, swaying her in our arms. We ate cheese and crackers, and then we...