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When you are five years old you spend the day in the Gardens.  The grass is greener than cabbages, and orange lilies stand up very straight and will not curtsey to the sun when the wind tells them.  Only pansies bow down very low.  Pansies make little purple cushions for queen bees to stand on.  Bees have brown silk hair on their bodies.  If you are careful they will let you stroke them.

The trees over the marble man catch up all the sunbeams so the shadows have it their way—­ the shadows swallow him up like a blue shark.  When you scoop a sunbeam up on your palm and offer it to the marble man, he does not notice... he looks into his stone beard. ...  When you do something great people give you a stone face, so you do not care any more when the sun throws gold on you through leaf-holes the wind makes in green bushes....  This thought makes me very sad.

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Jude has eyes like tobacco with yellow specks on it and his hair is red as a red orange.  Jude and I have made a garden in the field that no one knows about.  We creep in and out through a little place where the barbed wire is down.  We lie in the long grass and crush dandelions between our two cheeks till the milk comes out on our faces.  We hold each other tight and the wind tip-toes all over us and pelts us with thistle-down.

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Jude isn’t afraid of shadows—­ not even of the ones that have eyes in them.  And he can look in the face of the sun without blinking at all.  Hush! don’t say sun so loud.  The sun gets angry when you stare at him.  If you peek in his glory-windows he spreads into a great white flame like God out of his Burning Bush... till you put your hands up on your face and tremble like a drop of rain upon a flower that some one throws into the fire... and then the sun makes himself small, the sun swings down out of the sky—­ littler’n a star, little as a spark little as a fierce red spider on a burning thread... and then the light goes out... shivers into blackened bits....  You hold on to a wall that whirls around and the gate is a black hole.  You grope your way in like a toad that’s blinded by a stone... and mama puts on cold wet rags that get hot soon....  Hush! don’t let’s talk about the sun.

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When you pass by the ditch where Janie is You run very fast and look at the other side.  Jude says Janie did love me only she couldn’t forgive me, and that you can love people very much and never, never, never forgive them.... so we poked a stick in the bottle-green water.  But only weeds came up and an old top with the paint washed off.

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Jude and I
wave to the new moon
curled right up like one gold hair
on the bald-head sandhill. 
Mama peeps out the window and smiles. 
She thinks
I am playing with myself... 
Run, Jude, run with the wind—­
but hold my hand tight
or the wind,