The Fontanel Defense
An excerpt from an essay on looking through family photos after the death of my parents. I am alone in the attic of my family's summer home.
I confess to an almost religious affection for my own image as a child and then, more broadly, to pictures of my brother and my parents as children, and their parents and their parents’ parents as children all the way back, up and around the banks of a river and somewhere back in time well out of sight.
It’s not bewild…
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