Sunlight shone on the shower droplets, but it shone a dun shine.

Dreamt of Cobblestone this morning, the Montessori-like school where I spent the sweetest and most formative years of my life. My old teacher, dignified, good-postured, many-fabric'd Margaret, of South Africa, who amazed us with stories of geckos that ran up the walls at night, and the invention of the ice cream cone, appeared to tell me I couldn't keep coming back: my old teachers wanted nothing more from me than that I live my life, move forward, release the past. "Begin afresh, afresh, afresh," as Larkin said.