Increasingly of late, I have felling that I can dimly remember experiences from another life. "Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting," Wordsworth wrote. "The soul that rises with us, our life's star, hath had elsewhere it's setting, and cometh from afar.

"Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come from God, who is our home."

Perhaps so. It seems to me that I can remember an earlier existence in a world that was green, not white; warm at times, not everlastingly frozen.

High in the sky there was a bright round object that seemed to emit heat. It was visible almost half the time, and we called it "sun," as I recall. My memory of these things is dim now because I have lived in my present life for many years, and now it is difficult for me to recall details of that world filled with sunlight and warmth. "Heaven lies about us in our infancy," Wordsworth said. "Shades of the prisonhouse begin to close upon the growing boy; but he beholds the light, and whence it flows; he sees it in his joy. The youth, who daily farther from the East must travel, still is nature's priest, and by the vision splendid is on his way attended; at length the man perceives it die away and fade into the light of common day."

For me, the vision splendid faded into the light of common day so long ago that sometimes I'm not positive I knew a previous life. Did I really live in an era in which flowers bloomed and the world turned green each spring? I think I did, and sometimes at night when I dream about that warm and verdant world, everything seems so realistic I could swear I was there once myself, and saw it all.

But then I say to myself, "The whole idea of a sun is preposterous, of course. Who would go to the trouble of putting a space heater up in the sky, and where would anybody find one big enough to heat the entire world" Don't be a fool. You never lived before. You're living now for the first and last time."

But with temperatures what they've been this winter, can we really call this living? HERE WE GO AGAIN

From time to time I publish letters from readers who want the world to know about somebody who operated an auto recklessly. I usually delete license numbers from these reports because there is always the danger that the number was copied down wrong.

Today I have a memo from a colleague, a professional trained to get facts straight. The memo says: "I was walking on M Street, toward Connecticut Avenue. It was lunch time, so there were a lot of people on the sidewalk.

"Suddenly a large Chevrolet, license number DPL (deleted), came up over the curb onto the sidewalk, passed a few slow-moving cars, and then merges back into a hole in the traffic pattern. And what of those of us who happened to be walking on the sidewalk at the time? We had to flatten out against the wall, scared out of our minds. After the DPL car returned to the street, it was caught in traffic for a few minutes. I walked around to the front and motioned angrily to the woman in the front seat. She answered with a vaguely arrogant smile, and then the car moved on."

Incidents of this kind make me angrier than a mature man is supposed to get. I decided to find out to whom the car is registered and then confront the driver, and perhaps the appropriate ambassador. People who jeopardize the lives of others just shouldn't be permitted to continue to drive.

So I called my friends the cops and asked them to put the offender's license number into their computer. The answer came back in seconds.

No such. The license number given to me doesn't show up in the District's computerized registration records.

This does not necessarily mean my colleague copied it wrong. The information fed into the Districts computer may be at fault, or possibly there is some other explanation. But regardless of where the fault lies. I think it's clear that unless the license number provided to me produces positive identification of a person who was driving a specific car at a specific time and place, it's better not to publish the licence number. I hope you agree. THIS IS WASHINGTON

The Grits and Fritz administration is expanding. A man who gave his name as Walter Gold phoned yesterday to inform me that he had seen a bumper sticker that said, "Grits, Fritz and Spits."