"The children of the woods play wild, secret games. The beginning of a poem I once knew by heart."
I've been laid up in bed for the past four days with a truly horrible cold. Not just a little inconvenient sniffle or an achey feverish discomfort, but a full-on pounding-head, four-hour-nap, walk-in-clinic type of cold. My van is scattered with sickbed de…