До Адама

           Youhaveneverfeltthebiteofthemorningwindinthetree-tops,noristhetasteofyoungbarksweetinyourmouth.

           Itwouldbebetter,Idaresay,foryoutomakeyourapproach,asImademine,throughmychildhood.AsaboyIwasverylikeotherboys—inmywakinghours.ItwasinmysleepthatIwasdifferent.Frommyearliestrecollectionmysleepwasaperiodofterror.Rarelyweremydreamstincturedwithhappiness.Asarule,theywerestuffedwithfear—andwithafearsostrangeandalienthatithadnoponderablequality.NofearthatIexperiencedinmywakingliferesembledthefearthatpossessedmeinmysleep.Itwasofaqualityandkindthattranscendedallmyexperiences.

           Forinstance,Iwasacityboy,acitychild,rather,towhomthecountrywasanunexploreddomain.YetIneverdreamedofcities;nordidahouseeveroccurinanyofmydreams.Nor,forthatmatter,didanyofmyhumankindeverbreakthroughthewallofmysleep.I,whohadseentreesonlyinparksandillustratedbooks,wanderedinmysleepthroughinterminableforests.Andfurther,thesedreamtreeswerenotamerebluronmyvision.Theyweresharpanddistinct.Iwasontermsofpractisedintimacywiththem.Isaweverybranchandtwig;Isawandkneweverydifferentleaf.

           WelldoIrememberthefirsttimeinmywakinglifethatIsawanoaktree.AsIlookedattheleavesandbranchesandgnarls,itcametomewithdistressingvividnessthatIhadseenthatsamekindoftreemanyandcountlesstimesinmysleep.