Two planes. Dad stands on the ladder, I’m lying on my back. His hedge trimmer makes straight lines in the foliage. Meanwhile, my brain is trying to absorb infinity: “ Dad what’s at the edge of the universe?” The hedge-trimmer stops. He looks up at […]

When I was born, almost 55 years ago, my father planted a tree—a sugar maple—for me. He planted it probably 10 feet from the driveway, down a small hill. The hill made the branches visible from the kitchen window, a frame for watching it over […]