The Time Before

The time before my birth was a happy time. It was based on one obvious and strong sentiment, responsible for every hour. And the flowers and trees were all right too. Everyone had at least one green finger and a careful plea before the fit of the vapors, before the men with the dog collars came, who were so afraid of doing the wrong thing that they carved us into what they could understand. The time before my birth was potluck time. We would gather in the rustle of leaves and pretend that we had what we wanted, and we did. It was a good way to end the day.