When I was a small child we lived in Japan for a few years. Though my memories are sparse - only moments snatched here and there - they are fantastic.
The first day we arrived in Okinawa the sky opened up and cried marbles. I marveled as only a child can, wide eyed and gaping. Such were all my memories, of childhood wonder and exotic ambiance. A mystic quality saturated the air and we breathed it with deep full breaths. We played kick-the-can among the tropical foliage and raced the monsoons home. Upon playgrounds of towering red nets we were spiders creeping on top of the world. It was a storybook childhood, framed by endless beaches of crushed diamonds and sapphire blue seas.
This is beautifully contrived and should be transformed into a poem or something of that relation.
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