• Watched iron filings bristle a magnet. • In his father’s shop, watched an axle’s tip sag over an anvil. • Loved the Fens. • Loved Virgil’s words on young vines, their trellis of elms in the nursery field. • Considered life as a clockmaker. • Considered life as a blacksmith. • Loved, on his mother’s table, the candle-powered carousel, how the colts floated up on their tiny fobs as the heat rose. • Wrote with pencil in a leather-bound notebook: “Soap bubbles.” “Balloon.” • Wrote: “Refer to the last lecture.” • Wrote: “Respiration and its analogy to the burning of a candle.” • Considered Virgil’s vines, transplanted. • Considered the empty elms, each knife-notched to show where the vines once faced.