When I think of the last 24 hours, I think of the last 30 years. I think about coeds that walked by in their tight-fitting tops and their open-toe sandals with two inch heels.

I think of selling all I own and roaming Europe with a navy-blue Eddie Bauer Campus Daypack, then coming back years later. I'll get a house and a wife and a VW Beetle. And I'll drive that Beetle to my school, to my lake, on the perfectly sunny day of spring to watch as the wind blows a shower of sparkles over the water.

As this light dances so will I. My dance will not bring rain or snow or visions of God. My dance will not end world hunger or loneliness. Sometimes it seems that nothing I do makes a difference. It was not my fist that tore down the Berlin Wall. Nor was it my hand that rescued Aunt Mai's cat from that oak tree in her back yard. No, instead it was my foot that broke down my best friends door in a fit of rage. Someone else's fist swung the hammer to fix it.

But I've grown since then. I've put a cage around that tiger and a wall around that cage. No one hears it wailing lament nor feels its capital murder rage. Oh I miss seeing in black and white. Like long ago when Grandma would buy me vanilla ice cream cones with rainbow sprinkles and I rode my GI Joe bigwheel to play with the other kids. Back when I did not know what anger was.

I think I miss even more where I cannot remember. Before diapers, before birth. Before I cried for the first time because I knew cold at last. I guess that's why I'm always trying to get back in.