“The older I become, the more I understand Mr. Girandole's look of sadness and what he must have been thinking then. These games with tangerine peels... the times of little wide-eyed girls arriving on the terrace, and boys with notebooks... none of it lasted for more than a breath. Time never turned backward. Summer gave way to winter, and summer came again, and year by year, the vines lengthened, and the sharp detail faded from the statues- scales becoming ripples, passion becoming tranquility. Each time Mr. Girandole saw Grandmother, he looked at her like we all ought to look at one another, every time.”
―
Frederic S. Durbin,
A Green and Ancient Light