by Brian Bruso Passing over the archaic Bourne bridge as the autumn shoulder season slips into mulled cider and leaf filled barrels ablaze. Buzzards Bay, dark before seven, dusk cracking open cottage pies, spinsters cobbling blueberry buckles ‘in fashion’. Hugo’s serendipitous melancholy soothing a night- cap hot toddy. Seabird cackles keeping steady rhythm for the wooden spoon smacking polenta against pot sides. Cheddar grated over top, maybe an egg, dippy to be fancy. Hawki