The Day Titanic Drowned
Dec 30th, 2009 | By Tom Sheehan | Category: EssaysWe were sitting on empty nail kegs next to his icehouse on the edge of Lily Pond in Saugus, Doc Sawyer and me, talking about everything and nothing in particular.
We were sitting on empty nail kegs next to his icehouse on the edge of Lily Pond in Saugus, Doc Sawyer and me, talking about everything and nothing in particular.
The mirror folds in on itself. Images separate. At seven years of age I was drowning!
One Christmas many years ago there was for me one present from my parents, a little, done-over red wagon with a long hauling handle, and slatted sides.
There, in his barn, I was a listener as well as a watcher.
The building rose majestically, they all agreed, they who had to a man become proficient carpenters and finish men.
This is the Notre Dame fair, unleashing midway on and has kids and adults yelling at each other in French. Of course, this is Paris.
I never expected to be in India. And without a doubt, I never thought once I had been I would return, again and again.