Every year, when you’re a child, you become a different person.
Generally its in the fall when you re-enter school, take your place in a higher grade, leave behind the muddle and lethargy of the summer vacation. That’s when you register the change most sharply.
Afterwards you are not sure of the month or year but the changes go on, just the same. For a long while the past drops away from you easily and it would seem automatically, properly, its scenes don’t vanish so much as become irrelevant.
And then there’s a switchback, what’s been all over and done with sprouting up fresh, wanting attention, even wanting you to do something about it, though its plain there’s not on this earth a thing to be done.