Before I elude you I must tell some things about myself.    

My father was painfully prone to flights of fancy that the village folk used to shake their heads at.

When he was way into his cups he was in the habit of confessing to some drudgeries of his early life  

“I used to think myself a chameleon, beautiful and multihued with my leg on a smokey brown branch of a grapevine while the other perched on a miracle of the rainbow.  I distinctly remember thinking I could be everything and all-between. That I could solidify and disappear at will.”    

At least this is what I was told. 

Fourth one done, so I'll venture with the following title: "Anonymous Sustenance"