When Burle Mattingly was a young boy, World War II was always in front of him, in the troop trains that passed by on the railroad close to his home or the military planes in the air above him. He would join them in flying his plane from the high limbs of the silver maple in the front yard. A cold, foggy, misty day was no day for flying B-29s or fighter planes from the maple tree, so he decided to go to the barn loft and play. He began making tunnels through the stacks of hay bales. Coming out the back of a large stack, he slid down into a brilliant light all around him. He fell on his face....