It’s funny how, on revisiting the street where I grew up, the huge hill at the end of the road, that we used to slide down, had shrunk. Somehow, the mountain of my childhood was now, no more than a modest slope.Likewise, the dark forests that we played in, turned into small copses of trees, and the raging rivers we forded became tiny brooks, and lazy little streams.
It’s funny how, on revisiting the street where I grew up, the huge hill at the end of the road, that we used to slide down, had shrunk. Somehow, the mountain of my childhood was now, no more than a modest slope.Likewise, the dark forests that we played in, turned into small copses of trees, and the raging rivers we forded became tiny brooks, and lazy little streams.