When I was in Fourth Grade our classroom teacher would take us out to a field to practice calisthenics, a Nazi youth exercise I always loathed. In-between sessions we were made to sit on the grass. I recall being fascinated by the weeds that grew between the clumps of grass.
There was one type of weed I always kept an eye out for. Whenever I tore leaves off it, it emitted an unusual perfume I'd never smelled before. I must have been nine or ten then. It's been 56 years, but never again did I find or see that particular kind of weed once more.
Years later I became resident playwright of the school's children's theatre for eleven years. Once, while attending a rehearsal, I sauntered out to the old field to search for that weed, but only to find out that the field had been cemented over.
There was one type of weed I always kept an eye out for. Whenever I tore leaves off it, it emitted an unusual perfume I'd never smelled before. I must have been nine or ten then. It's been 56 years, but never again did I find or see that particular kind of weed once more.
Years later I became resident playwright of the school's children's theatre for eleven years. Once, while attending a rehearsal, I sauntered out to the old field to search for that weed, but only to find out that the field had been cemented over.
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