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At first I did not recognize my childhood home on Alsenstrasse. Everything was either too large or too small. But then I squatted down and pretended I had problems walking, much as a toddler experiences the world. The basement windows became first floor windows and I walked along them with my head below them. This became the house I recognized when I would hold onto the walls as not to fall over. I remember now, but the memories come as short impressions. There is no motion in these impressions. A snowball sticks to the red brick. You can't see through the window. I can hide behind the corner. If I close my eyes nobody will ever find me.

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