TTK No. 50
Looking through the keyhole at my tiny experience, I went traipsing through my memories like drifts of snow. Air and water and boots. When my boots were small I sled down the snowy slopes and my eyes shone; before the world bullied and insisted dreams were built of air and water and boots weren’t made of wizard dust. When did the world get serious, or, when did I make it so? They did not know, and I forgot too, that the game was the play we were meant to make, and the snows were built of stuff singing hallelujah. The flakes fell from the sky and my wand ushered them downward. I remember them, faintly, falling down.