Homing In I wandered down the highway a few times to a neighbor girl’s house that was further out of town. We’d plonk ourselves on the piano bench, play simple songs, and giggle. I was in my leafy bower, high in a cherry tree in our side yard, when I heard her call up to me. Startled by her voice, I beamed at the thought of my own visitor—the girl with pale blonde curls and eyes as clear as the...
