|Copyright A.V. Dutson|
Three I Be
Who can remember their third year exactly? What changes from two to three and three to four? I could never tell and much of that time seems a blur now.
I remember playing with a black plastic stallion on a coffee table my dad made. I galloped him along the tiles like he was running along a road. For some reason I think it was my birthday, but who can tell.
The days of the giddy toddler are lost to me now. All that remains is the photos.