Nepal, March 22 -- Seize the boy!

But he was too fast. Fast as lightning, he was out the kitchen window-his mother's fingers clutching thin air-his body plunging into the tall green grass. The roused neighbours opened their windows at the commotion and saw only a shape in the veldt scurrying off towards the rising sun, leaving in its wake a trail of twinkling fireflies. They shouted at him, but he sped all the more.

The dewy stalks slapped against him and washed his face, his hands, and his legs. He bit them and gulped down the fresh ambrosia. The ground fell beneath his steps, the sky dipped upon his leaps. The wind was in his hair, and he was in the wind. Summer. It was a glorious summer. It was eternal summer, and he was going to run...