The Commonplace 41 



vantage. Near one edge of the field ran a 

 rivulet, and beyond the rivulet were great 

 woods. What was beyond the woods, I could 

 only surmise. I recall how year by year I 

 wondered at this field, until it became a sort 

 of perpetual and compelling mystery, and 

 somehow it came to be woven as a natural part 

 of the fabric of my life. To this day I try 

 once each year to visit this dear old field, even 

 though it is long since leveled. All the sweep 

 of my childhood comes back to me unbidden. 

 The field is still a pasture, and generations of 

 cows have passed on since then. Yet, as 

 much as this field meant to me, I do not re- 

 member to have had any distinct feeling that 

 there was any cause for the pools and knolls. 

 My father cut the field from the forest, yet I 

 do not remember that I ever asked him why 

 this field was so ; and I never heard any person 

 express any curiosity about it. We all seemed 

 to have accepted it, just as we accept the air. 

 As I think of it now, this field must have been 

 the path of a tornado that turned over the 

 trees ; and long before the settlers came, the 



