He carries his home with him and wherever he goes he finds himself. Living with the seasons he sees them come and go. Every autumn the leaves fall as if from an eternal half withered garden above the clouds. This detail unchanging like a mothers presence serving and scolding in the background of a child's adventurous life. If death is just a form of forgetting his memories of childhood might as well have belonged to someone else. He rarely thinks of them, a life of constant movement offers so many fleeting moments to attach ones sentimentality to. It seems everything he sees belongs to him and he does not really need any of it. By Max Brand, The Duck.