ABSTRACT
Once again, I look at the grassy green field before me. A haze has obscured it, but the afternoon sun now streaming down on it puts it in clear view. Its shape and its shades of color are plainly in my sight. The birds are still singing. As I look at the spruce tree, I remember cutting the poison ivy vine from it. I recall its furry stem, and the recollection is so vivid that as the scene fills my consciousness, I seem almost to re-enter the past.
