Nostalgia can hit you like a brick over the head; unexpected like a snow storm in summer . . .
Where did these babies go?
No more naked in the corn field . . .
No more baldy cousins at twilight, at least for another sixty to eighty years . . .
These monkeys grew and morphed . . .
Transformed and became the current beings they are now. . .
Sweet as peaches, but babies no longer.