by W.A. Smith At first I figured we all arrive with our innocence enclosed, or attached like a novitiate’s insignia. Then (I guessed) we mislay it somehow or cast it off during the flight to knowledge and adulthood and all those rich discoveries life has...
by W. A. Smith Davy Calhoun slipped the driver’s seat back a notch, folded his hands in his lap and stared at the Brigham’s bright white house across the street. The hedge had grown a foot since he saw it last. How come Molly’s dad hadn’t kept...
(A memoir in progress) by W. A. Smith Prologue My father died as the sun rose on Easter morning, 1979. Months before, in a halting progression that reminded me of the lights in a house flickering out one by one, room by room, he had lost the ability to move under his...
