My family had just moved from the mountains to a sandy town by the sea. I did not like the sand, and I did not like the heat. I refused to take off my favorite jacket and insisted that we moved back to where it was cool, green, and sandless. They put me in kindergarten instead. I did not cry, I simply followed my mother as soon as she left the classroom.
One evening my older sisters took me to a nearby park where a tower stood among a lot of trees. The park was filled with an excited and noisy crowd, but there was a breeze from the river to cool me off. We stood expectantly within view of a platform with curtains, and soon the wonder began.
It was a puppet show. For what seemed to me a long, magical dream, I stood mesmerized by the exciting sight and sound magnified by a young imagination set loose. I was transported into another world. The show ended and I was hustled home, but the enchantment stayed with me throughout my nightly slumber.
The next morning I found my way back to the park, sure in my mind that I would find that puppet stage and be able to rejoin the wonderland it opened to. To my puzzled disappointment, it had disappeared, and in vain did I run back and forth inside that park searching for the thing that had brought me such happiness.
Sometimes, while strolling in a park, I still look around in faint hope that my puppet stage would show up again for me. You see, all these years I've been searching but couldn't find it yet.