MY EARLIEST MEMORY
I am in an oldfashioned coachpram; one with a giant bubbly hood like in Mary
Poppins. My great aunt Rose is pushing it down a sandy alley and I can hear the sound of her shoes crunching. I can see her face. I can’t walk or talk yet. I’m not theorizing about anything. I’m purely seeing. I remind myself of trying to simply see, just like that, as often as possible.