Most of the events that compose her childhood memories were contained in a spot of land far too small for even a football match. Growing up, she quickly learned that the methods of harmony were hard to find. The rocks and rivers of the remote mountains were unreachable dreams. The squawking ocean a hot nuisance. Here, in her green square she invented the peace everything beyond seemed to protest. The white stripes guarded against vandals and villains she had seen on television and in the cities. The great green tree shaded and hid her. The yard became her world. It was still, and she was safe.

She is an adult now, and the yard is gone, something else—a slab of asphalt or the concrete bed of a new and better house. But the yard still provides her with comfort though it no longer exists. There is hope that other children have green squares as nice as hers.

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