About Me

About Sarah Tracy Burrows

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Passionate about reading and writing since a young girl and inspired by Civil War letters and memorabilia handed down by my maternal grandfather, I write historical and current fiction based on true events, as well as nonfiction and poetry.

For me, writing is one of the ultimate ways to express my self, experiences, and what inspires my soul.

I also enjoy photography, from shooting landscapes, nature, humans, and our creations. My photography has received awards.

A native of Central New York and graduate of Hobart & William Smith Colleges with a B.A. in English and history, I have a business background in sales with multiple companies, including Boston publishing company, CFO Publishing Corp., a subsidiary of The Economist, London. I live on Boston’s North Shore and am the proud mother of three sons’. My passions besides writing, photography, family, friends, and our Golden Retriever, Scout, include swimming, skiing, walking nearby beaches, the Adirondack Mountains, and watching every sunrise and sunset possible.

Books With a Cause

My writing and photography share stories. My hope is that each imparts a useful vision and/or lesson. To follow in the footsteps of my military and political ancestors who, after wars ended, fought for veterans’, Civil Rights, and protecting sacred grounds, I will donate a portion of my published books’ proceeds to preserving American Civil War battlefields and causes aiding veterans of any wars and/or their families.

GRANDPA’S GIFT

Dedicated to John Bayard Tracy -(12/10/1905-1988) 2nd great grandson of Colonel John Bayard (1738-1807)

By his granddaughter, Sarah Ann Burrows, April 27, 1990
Hobart & William Smith Colleges

“Sarah, get the leash, sweetheart. We’ll take Libby for a walk.”

My grandfather’s request sent my heart soaring. My feet tore up the slippery old carpet inside his Dutch Colonial home in Sedgwick Farm in Syracuse, New York as I hurried from the kitchen through the small living room, passing by the antique desk where generations of Tracys’ were framed, to the front hall vestibule. Turning the dark wooden knob, which always was a bit loose, to open the glass-paneled door, I scooped up the coiled leash from the corner of the bluestone floor.

Back in the kitchen, Grandpa called, “Libby, come, we’re going for a walk.”

The shy, thin mix of Golden Retriever and German Shepard lay in her usual spot, on her cozy bed beneath the metal table which held the utensil drawer and on top, the red metal bread box, full of Archway frosted oatmeal cookies.

Libby ducked her head and came out slowly to stand on long, skinny legs light tan in color in a gentle, feminine way. My grandfather held out his arm. She jumped up placing her front paws on him, her grasp so tight her nails protruded half an inch. He bent so she could kiss his cheek then stroked her narrow head again and again, all the while their eyes set on each other.

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A COLD WINTER’S DAY

The snow had been falling all day in Central New York. The banks piled high, the late afternoon sky was dark, swirling with large flakes. Sent on an errand to Angie’s, a convenience store on the edge of my Sedgwick Farms neighborhood, I walked fast despite the weather and age of nine, my mind set on buying candy with my allowance. The milk I’d bring home was secondary.

Making my way up Farmer Street, I approached the store. An old “K” car was parked beside it, just before the corner. A man, wearing a robin’s egg colored business suit, baby blue in color like his car, sat in the driver’s seat. My instinct told me to cross to the other side. I did, trudging on the right of the road.
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SARAH’S POETRY

MEET ME ON THE BRIDGE

Meet me on the bridge
Where we first met
When you gazed at me
With eyes clear, full of intrigue
Innocence
Hope
Yes, meet me there
High tide, low tide
Doesn’t matter
But when the wind blows soft
Salt air cool
Tall grass waves
Whispering in our ears
As the sun rays lower
Moon rises
Atlantic horizon disappears
So a new day greets us
Yes, meet me there
Like that
Where it all began
And starts again
I will wear the black dress
The one you liked so well
And when I see you
I will run
Over the wood planks
Feet bare
Arms open wide…
Scoop me up
Hold me tight
Swing us ‘round
Kiss me long
Murmur in my ear
The fight is over
I am yours
Please
Come home
Meet me on the bridge

THEY SAID IT WOULD GO FAST

They said it would go fast
But I didn’t believe them
There were diapers to be changed
Scraped knees tended
Tears wiped
Temper tantrums tamed
One child on a hip
Another in a stroller
The puppy barking
And you, running down the road

What fun we had
Though we hardly knew it
Yes, they said it would go fast
But I didn’t believe them
Then, one day, we walked to the bus stop
Hand in hand
It approached
You dropped my grasp
Disappeared from sight

And wham!
I went weak
There goes my baby!

Yes, they said it would go fast
But I didn’t believe them
In a blink of an eye
You walked ahead
Made friends
Blasted music
Studied hard
Closed your door
Became an adult
Needed me less

Yes, they said it would go fast
But I didn’t believe them
Now, you’re about to fly
And you will soar!
I say to you
Go

Discover your passions
Stay close to them
Be yourself
Kind to others
Do your best
Make a difference
Glance back
Know you are loved
Keep moving forward

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Print & Ebook available soon at: The book is not published yet.