The novel could be about finding out. Very rarely do you catch the inhabitants inside their houses. Occasionally a denizen gets off the bus and walks home. Not the usual thing. Framing this view of Brough St. is an ironwood tree leaning out over the sidewalk.
Kids play siege on a mound of cement blocks thrown here to fill in a marshy depression.
Until an eyesore-conscious body made their owner tear it down. Things are still dated from the day the bulldozer levelled the fort hill. Her house is hedged, grey bricked and shuttered with shutters that can never be closed. I suppose some day the field will disappear under the foundations of ten such houses. Huron St. These are filled with old trees, ancient lawns, closed-over wells, orchard survivors.