Nabokov

The leaves mingle in my memory with the leather of her shoes and gloves, and there was, I remember, some detail in her attire ( perhaps a ribbon on her Scottish cap, or the pattern of her stockings]'s that reminded me then off the rainbow spiral in a glass marble. I still seem to be holding that wisp of iridescence, not knowing exactly where to fit it, While she runs with her loop ever faster around me and finally dissolves among the slender shadows cast on the graveled path by the interlaced arches of it's low looped fence.

Extract from "Speak memory"
Nabokov