by Robert P. Barsanti Two days ago, we cancelled a beach party. We had one of those days that only happens on Nantucket or in Maine. In the center of the island, or in town, or anywhere more than one hundred yards from the beach, the air hung and dripped. […]

by Robert P. Barsanti At four in the morning, a sliver of a moon rises out of the mists of the Atlantic. It hangs over Cliff Road, obscured by a bank of clouds, then illuminating the elms, oaks, and eaves. In the purple night, the road contains rabbits, deer, and […]

by Robert P. Barsanti Close friends of mine are lucky enough to live in one of the right addresses. As a result, nine months out of the year they have no neighbors within a well struck two iron. In the summer, the street is a hive of activity. They tell […]

by Robert P. Barsanti The Professors of the Peloton passed me at our new stop sign on Surfside Road and Bartlett. I eased to a stop, adjusted the radio, then looked up at sixteen middle-aged and older men swooping past me like starlings. They pulled out into the oncoming traffic, […]

by Robert P. Barsanti I passed through another birthday recently. It all went well; everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. My wife took me out to dinner, my fellow teachers signed a card, and eight members of the student orchestra showed up with violins and played Happy Birthday to me […]

by Robert P. Barsanti The trucks are backing up on Old South Road: roofing trucks, plumbing trucks, landscapers with trailers, the ubiquitous UPS brown truck, and a truck with a wooden Chris Craft on its way down to Children’s Beach and the ramp. We all crept forward. It wasn’t raining. […]

by Robert P. Barsanti In the rest of the northeast, spring means a gradual thaw and warm up. The ice melts, the puddles dry, and then, on one golden and dappled afternoon, the sun burns through and things go bloom. Not so out here. The sun appears like a student […]