The things I don't remember about childhood are the ones I miss the most: nights I slipped quickly into untroubled sleep, pine-boughed days through which I tumbled and pretended-- I'm just guessing here. How exotic
the town of Childhood seems. To think: I once lived there, or so I tell me. Childhood is a village with its own sun and moon, a silver silo full of long days, a golden clock-tower. It is a place filled with people who passed on from here.