The years pass through us taking as they go a harvest of friends, winds scatter and diminish tomorrow's surprises. The skipping youth of hope that we now find to be a dare is a difficult rope to jump. Little by little cherished things disappear into dimmed yesterdays . . . our wonder at the evening star, recurring delight at the first snowfall. But the heart rebels, refutes the reasoned rhyme, the whispered rumor and holds fast to the indwelling spirit that has for each an eternal summer.