THE COURTYARD OF MY CHILDHOOD

The courtyard of my childhood - how much my memory gratefully preserves these tender memories, when near the ceremoniously whitewashed wall of my grandfathers old but strong house, I played under a pear tree in the shade of its spreading crown. And this stool, askew with peeling paint, and blue window frames, and a cornice burning in the rays of the southern sun at the entrance to the quiet coolness of the houses. It will forever indelibly remain with me for the rest of my life.