When the gray November weather arrived, its soft, dark clouds hung low and without brightness over the brown of the plowed fields and the vibrant emerald green of the winter grain fields, the oppressive silence in my heart awakened a longing for the good things of childhood, for affection, for comfort. As the longing grew stronger, the narrator traveled to Brandenburg to her childhood home, which she had not visited in years. With a pounding heart, she opened the gate to the garden of her childhood.