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Perhaps now is the time to say these things over again, as
simply and directly as any of us can. Perhaps too much has already been said, maybe not
enough. Perhaps this is the time to say "Thank you", quickly retire, try to do
better and say no more. But would I dare stop here?
I wonder if I should tell you about
a childhood that wasn't always strawberries and cream, and that would make you remember
your own laughter and pain of growing up? I wonder if I should try to amuse you with
adventure and romance that would make you and myself wonder what next? I wonder if we
should think of the world as we make it, or wish it were better so that we could all sit
back, marvel at it and at little children looking at us, all safe and secure.
We were all of us incredible creatures when we were little. We could see and hear and feel
and smell and with easy concentration create things that never were and things that were
yet to come.
We can all remember when we originally saw and felt things not yet inhibited by manners or
sentiment. Then we were lower to the ground and nearer to detail; then we could create a
piece of silver out of some tinfoil down a drain, spot a robin on a water tower and see it
become a chimney pot wearing a red hat; make a brown cow out of an old glove; build a city
in the folds of a bedsheet; or even transform a doting aunt into a witch!
Do you remember when words and sounds and images had particularly curious significance
for you? When with a clothespin pinching your nose mumbling noises would become a foreign
language? Or a foreign language become music making pictures or fantasy? Do you remember
books that made you angry, those that made you happy and some that stayed with you always? |
