childhood is buried deep within oneself, not hiding but sunken into a memory, a silent lane under weeping trees, small sparrows watching quietly in a hollow of the forest. childhood is a silly bear, whose eyes are filled with enchantment and endless running. it is the silken, fallen leaves whose language we have all but forgotten, save for the child whose heart is the forest and sea, who understands all languages of the earth and the skies.
childhood, that waundering life of color and landscape far above the moon's universe. the children in us wait, but live without us......until we turn to see our own smiling faces, the face of our child.