Minnesota, about 1954: My father and I strolled through a field, I'm not even sure now what crop, in pheasant season. He had his Marlin 12 gauge pump and I had a single shot .410. At one point we came to the fencerow at the end of the field. Without a word said, he leaned the shotgun on the fence and laid down in the tall grass. I followed suit, and we both dozed off for at least a few minutes. It was the only time I ever knew Dad to do anything like that.

Arkansas, 1969, finishing college after a Navy Hitch: A roommate and I were driving around, with the girls we were dating, in my old Buick. Someone suggested we go out to Cabin Creek. We parked awhile in virtual pitch darkness. There must have been a mass hatching of fireflies just then; the whole creekbed area was full of absolutely countless glimmers. I relived the scene as part of a dream once a few years afterward.
                           Dean