February in the woods was hard, but the iridescent magic of a solitary life steeped in the sights, sounds and scents of the forest was a joyful thing. It’s been said that every child has a normal life — except in retrospect. And so it was for me.
I grew up talking with frogs and fairies and the chuckling stream. I built dams and pools and forts, explored old mine shafts and climbed trees. When I got tired, I’d flop down and gaze up into a layered sky until I achieved the sensation of falling up. Childhood gave me an unusual perspective on what constitutes “reality.”