My childhood; of green dragons sailing the chimney smoke and the cracked backs of burnt-out farmhouses in the woods somewhere; of warmly wet spring afternoons and pots of golds shimmering in harvest fields; of yellow rubber boots and slugs and snails and murky pondlife holding unexpected jewels; of the strange phenomena and the ghosts in the attic and the rocking horse rocking of its own accord; of gazing at the moon submerged in a lake and wanting nothing more.

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