Barefoot childhood, running through forests, meadows, dusty roads, and wading in a cold stream. Wind gently playing in hair and sun-kissed freckles. Wreaths of dandelions, strawberries strung on a sedge, warm milk from grandmother's hands and the vast sky. What's in it? A rabbit, a ship, or maybe a giant. The sweetness of the night, the apples falling to the ground and the cold dew in the mornings running to collect them all. And everything is so easy, simple, and clear, just play from morning to night...