Crows by Andrew Wyeth
The strange idea of revisiting my childhood home suddenly occurred to me last night. I moved away from there when I was six, and so my recollections of it are rather vague. It was a landed property that someone rented to us (we weren't so well-to-do at that time), and I remember it being somewhat old and worn. I remember a spacious yard where we hung our laundry, and where my maid claimed she could see spirits lingering about. I recall that there were dead crows on the ground outside our house after every crow-exterminating exercise. I wonder if I'll still recognise it when I see it?