WHEN SHAMAN WAS A BOY I knew a child, raucous and wild, from smoky nights of thrashing in sleep, who treasured that time of waking ease, gazing through his window for a precious hour at the waving and whispering of air and trees, feeling their graceful toss and sway in seasonal wind and softening breeze, they puffed the clouds and filtered the day that he might grow to live and breathe.

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